


Raison d'Être

by cutesudon



Series: Political AU [1]
Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Angst and Fluff and Smut, Dirty Talk, Fluff and Angst, Interviews, M/M, Mutual Pining, Newspaper Articles, Political AU, Porn With Plot, Porn with Feelings, Praise Kink, President Nikiforov, Prime Minister Katsuki, Sassy Katsuki Yuuri, Sexual Tension, Shameless Smut, Smitten Victor Nikiforov, Suits, alcohol consumption, alternative universe
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-18
Updated: 2017-09-17
Packaged: 2018-12-03 16:11:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 29,576
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11535771
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cutesudon/pseuds/cutesudon
Summary: 1. reason or justification for existence; the thing that is most important to someone or something; the sole or ultimate purpose of someone.President Nikiforov of Russia has a few weaknesses: premium rye vodka, an attention span of 30 minutes, and a torrid love affair with the Japanese Prime Minister.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Hi, I’m Andie. You're not going to believe me if I tell you I've been planning this AU since January.  
> I've spent way too much time planning and plotting this Political AU, and while I'm a busy student and a slow writer, I feel like this needs to be put out there regardless of how long it takes me to work on it. I'm really passionate about this project <3  
> 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was initially planning this to be a teaser for a whole series but I've changed my mind: I'll be posting one-shots to the series, then adding these one-shots as chapters shortly after, since they're better to read in context.  
> Check out the [amazing art made by nae812](http://nae812.tumblr.com/post/164727622472/commission-for-vityanikiforova-who-writes-the) <3
> 
> Big Thanks Time™:  
> to Jenn for making this AU come to life with me.  
> to Ri for being so enthusiastic about it and reading through my horrible drafts.  
> to Louise for believing in this AU and encouraging me with sweet words.  
> And to nakanowardcat and yukiyuna for proofreading and helping this non-native get those tenses right.

Anonymity was a blessing, Victor thought, watching a crowd of nameless people passing by him on the streets, completely oblivious to his presence. The chance of casually walking everywhere, of doing your own thing and being just one more face in the crowd, nameless, unimportant, was something so trivial yet so underrated Victor only felt envy for it.

Some people dedicated their lives to being someone—someone significant, someone renowned, someone who _stood out_ like he did, and while he recognized that having a public image indeed had its bright sides, in moments like these he wished to be just one more face in the crowd: nameless and irrelevant.

The freedom of walking down the street holding hands with his loved one was a distant dream, for he too suffered the same bane. They would _never_ be trivial people, free to live how they wanted, and that was a blessing as much as a curse.

Many sleepless nights he’d spent wondering if they’d ever have the chance of making it public knowledge in a fashion they chose, instead of tainting their careers and ruining all of their hard work.

His leg bounced in anticipation, fingers—cold like icicles—snapping soundlessly in a wordless plea to make time go faster. Every minute spent idle counted, and every second could be critical when they were waiting in a tumultuous street with little security like he was. It was folly, yet sorely necessary. Organizing their personnel for that purpose during such an important event in an active part of the city like this was a desperate measure, but the uncertainty of when meeting again would be possible with their hectic agendas urged it.

It felt like pushing their luck, Victor pondered—but then again, the reward was too delightful not to risk it.

Carefully, he pulled his phone from his pocket, feeling the need to have his hands busy with something, _anything_ , while he waited for his team’s word.  Turning the screen away carefully so the light didn’t directly illuminate his face, he searched for that last message he’d received which he’d read about a hundred times,

_Meet me at 22h in my hotel room._

It was 21:48h. Not a lot of time left but they’d have to make do, and what made him feel powerless was that he was supposed to only sit and wait until everything was ready. Victor had given his team enough time to make preparations, granted, but given the fact that this hotel was located in a rather active part of Davos it wasn’t exactly easy to clear the back entrance and navigate his way in without raising suspicions.

What he knew about their procedure was definitely the abridged version—one team had cleared the outside, the other the inside, and everything needed to be timed perfectly so they could meet and leave without any the wiser. How they dealt with the security system was none of his business, but Victor always wondered.

“Access is clear. Just a three-minute ride, sir,” a low, respectful voice broke the silence, and Victor felt his bodyguard’s eyes watching him through the rearview mirror.

He nodded, finding himself staring at an anonymous couple holding hands on the sidewalk. The car moved, and Victor was grateful for the smoky glass that made him invisible to the world as he studied the couple. He resented them, pointlessly, though there was a slight relief in knowing that he’d soon experience love physically like that, even if just for a night.

The car took its place on the street with a low rumble, passing in front of the elegant hotel he was about to sneak into. Victor looked up, eyes sparkling like a curious child’s as he searched the hotel windows looking for a sign of Yuuri—futile, as it was impossible to see through the glass—, feeling a pleasant shiver as he realized it was just a matter of minutes until they finally met again.

Except these corny thoughts were abruptly interrupted as Victor noticed the car remained stagnant, and looking ahead of them he found an unexpectedly long line of traffic stretching through what seemed to be the whole street ahead of the hotel. And his heart beat faster for a whole different reason now. He didn’t want to check his phone, as he knew that would only make him even more apprehensive, prone to doing something stupid—he knew they were far too tight to make it in time, and anxiety only tended to build up in that case.

As if sensing his uneasiness, or maybe Victor’s patience wearing thin, Petrov pressed the receiver on his ear and asked for an explanation. It seemed as though he didn’t even wait for the answer before he started opening a new path through the cars, and Victor was not sure whether he was grateful or concerned for his attitude.

“It’s just around the corner now,” the man explained, attentive to the cars around them as he pressed forward, and finally traffic was flowing normally for them.

Victor sighed, relieved, releasing tension from his shoulders he had no clue he’d been holding. It would be fine, he told himself, everything would go smoothly and he’d make it in time and unnoticed. And once he made it into Yuuri’s room, all of his concerns would be left in the world outside. Inside that room, they could be as mundane as they wished.

Just as promised, the street leading to the back entrance was quiet, empty except for two of his men standing watch by the door. Petrov stopped the car as close to the entrance as possible and Victor stepped out, a gust of cold wind kissing his warm skin as he walked to the door, making a mess of his hair and decorating his coat with snowflakes. The door was held open, his men ever watchful of the streets, and Victor followed with long, sure steps, taking the lead and making his way into the luxury hotel with his men at his heels.

He found his way to the elevators with ease, being silently guided by his security that stood watch efficiently as they called for the elevator. He couldn’t help but feel a little nervous as they waited, both from anticipation and from being furtive.

Sneaking into a hotel for a private meeting usually meant either taking the stairs or the service elevator, something rather uncanny to think that a man like Victor would go through. He didn’t mind. The service elevator slid its doors open within seconds, empty except for one of what he assumed to be Yuuri’s men. As they made sure Victor was safe, his men stood back, ending their part of the operation and going back to their cars stealthily. The guard pressed the button for the top floor, standing watch by the door for Victor as the doors closed with a soft thud.

If he could intimidate the elevator to ascend faster with a stare, Victor would. He peeled his black gloves off and shoved them in his pocket, rubbing his cold hands in front of his lips. The elevator’s low, mechanical whirring grounded him in the moment. He checked his phone again, and it was exactly 22h.

The ride on the elevator was smooth, silent, and almost too long to bear. Yuuri’s security guard was silent, not even daring to look at Victor, seeming to sense the elevator’s arrival to its destination and stepping aside to grant Victor full access to the door.

And then there was always this weird sensation, this paralyzing excitement that overwhelmed him before he took his first step outside of the elevator, where a short path from point A to point B felt like an epic saga that lasted a lifetime, followed by pure absolution. At some point halfway to Yuuri’s room it felt normal, completely trivial, a feeling of returning home after a tiring day.

In some ways it was.

It didn’t feel nearly as long of a walk when Victor found himself a couple of steps away from the door, sided by two of Yuuri’s men standing watch, one of which immediately slid the room card to unlock the door for him. Victor’s legs trembled, though not in a way that he felt like falling on his knees—in fact, he felt charged with adrenaline, like he was ready to run a marathon, jump through a window and do a somersault as he landed on the other building’s roof, something straight out of an action movie. It was as he neared Yuuri he could feel life coming back to him, his energy being fully restored.

Just a door kept him from what he wanted the most in this world, and it was almost as though his senses were sharper as he turned the knob, pushed the door and stepped into the room. And then there was unspeakable calmness.

The room was large, cozy and warm, elegantly decorated in shades of taupe, white and gold. It was undeniably lavish, offering all the comfort a person of great importance could possibly need on a business trip. Although impersonal, the room felt lived in – the small living room that greeted him as he stood by the door showed signs of being used, like a coat hanging on a chair, a silver bucket of champagne that collected beads of condensed water, remnants of a hurried meal. The soft yellow light lent a dreamy atmosphere to the room, making everything look golden except for the dark figure facing the window.

Victor kicked his shoes off with care, mindful not to startle him but aware that Yuuri must have known he was in the room already. He took the sight spread before him as if he wanted to commit every detail to memory—like how the pillows on the armchair were askew, the closed laptop on the low coffee table in front of it, the soft buzz of the TV tuned to some news channel with English subtitles; the large king size bed with white linens and a collection of pillows, so inviting yet arranged so neatly that Victor could tell Yuuri hadn’t even touched it. And Yuuri, who stood in front of the large window admiring the city sparkling at his feet.

His body seemed to read it like a fight or flight situation, so positively charged with adrenaline he could hear his heart drumming in his ears. Taking in a deep breath, he cleared his throat and watched Yuuri stir in his spot, casting a quick glance over his shoulder, and if Victor hadn’t been so sharp-eyed or didn’t know him so well he would have missed the gentle blush on his cheeks.

“That took you a while,” Yuuri said, barely containing a smile on his lips.

Victor knew he didn’t mean it as a complaint, though he could not help being disappointed as his eyes read 22:02h on the clock on the nightstand. Shaking that off, he smiled.

“I’d never have guessed traffic in Davos was so unpredictable,” he said, concealing the frustration in his voice.

Yuuri smiled fondly.

“That’s why we have our chauffeurs. Bodyguards don’t bother about arriving in time,” Yuuri teased, finally turning around to face him, taking unhurried steps, swaying his hips in a fashion Victor knew well and oh, he’d missed it.

Yuuri stopped, keeping a certain distance to have a good look at him, and Victor did the same. Despite having seen him in person not even five hours ago he hadn’t had a chance to see him up close that way. Yuuri had his hair slicked back, no glasses, and had the warm smile that was reserved for Victor only, the smile that crinkled the corner of his eyes and gave him a soft look and reminded Victor of how young he was. He was still wearing the suit he had worn at the press conference, black and tight, hugging his shape in an almost lewd way, and time seemed to freeze as they studied each other for what could have been an eternity, though not nearly enough to sate their needs.

“I’ll keep your advice in mind, Prime Minister,” Victor drawled with a smile, taking a small step to shorten their distance.

Yuuri mirrored him, still assessing Victor’s clothes with attentive, curious eyes. His nose wrinkled at his long coat, and he brought his hands up to tug at the lapels. It was a delicate, precise motion.

“Let me help you. You won’t be needing this here,” he whispered, pressing a hand on Victor’s chest and sliding the coat off his shoulders.

Yuuri’s touch was like burning charcoal on Victor’s skin, even through the layers of fabric of his three-piece suit, and Victor craved more. Displaying the affection that is reserved to lovers only, Yuuri took his coat off for him, hanging it on the armchair alongside his. With that out of the way, Yuuri offered him a fond smile, blushing ever so lightly under Victor’s gaze.

“Does this feel better, Mister President?” And the way he raised his eyebrow, the tone of his voice that just hinted at his lewdness made Victor’s heart leap in his chest.

“Much better,” he confirmed, voice as low and inviting as Yuuri’s, and he took pride in watching his cheeks bloom with warmth.

Yuuri looked away in innocent shyness, incredulous that Victor was really there, physically with him, and Victor watched him observe his clothes bit by bit, taking in his silent, comforting presence. He could almost read Yuuri’s thoughts from the way he was looking at him, _studying_ him as he realized Victor wore a different suit from their previous, public meeting.

“This is an elegant suit,” Yuuri commented, copper eyes basking in the details in awe—the way it hugged Victor’s shape perfectly, enveloping him in the finest materials, which only made Yuuri want to _ruin_ the man wearing it. “And you look _breathtaking_ in it,” he added, the lilt of his voice, the sparkle in his eyes, drinking in every detail, making that remark as if he was commenting on the weather, but it was so much more. “What’s the occasion tonight?”

And Victor felt his cheeks burn lightly at that sincere praise, exchanging a meaningful gaze with _his_ Yuuri who knew exactly what that praise did to him, and yet still looked slightly embarrassed to speak his thoughts out loud, observing the hidden meaning behind that rueful that described how much he appreciated it, and it made his heart race as much as it filled him with pleasure. He had, in fact, picked his outfit exclusively for Yuuri, for he deserved Victor in his best shape possible, and Victor would do everything in his reach to guarantee that.

His eyes lit up, a smirk forming on his lips as he edged a bit closer.

“I have a date,” he whispered like it was a secret, toying with Yuuri just because.

The delight of watching Yuuri’s cheeks turn a brighter shade of red as he understood what Victor shamelessly meant by those words was indescribable, those copper eyes wordlessly begging for more, for everything Victor had.

“Who is the lucky one?” Yuuri teased, just to reel him in, to get more of that suave flattery Victor loved to shower him with.

Yuuri leaned closer, so close he could almost feel Victor’s warmth through his clothes, picking his hand up gently and brushing his lips on his knuckles. Victor could practically hear Yuuri’s breath get caught as he watched him, and he wanted to laugh, a wave of anticipation washing over his body as he remembered how terribly forbidden it was for them to be doing it, and yet absolutely worth it as he stood there, teasing and reeling Yuuri in that seduction game they’d learned to play and love. He parted his lips, gazing at Yuuri through heavy-lidded eyes as he tilted his head just slightly, wishing to seduce him even further.

“My boyfriend,” he drawled, lazily surveying Yuuri’s face for a reaction with those endlessly blue eyes, and Yuuri was so hooked on him it was unmistakable, breath shallow and needy. He had it back under his control quickly, chuckling as he brought his face close enough to Victor's so their breaths mingled, caressing each other’s face softly as he spoke.

“Well, in that case perhaps a more appropriate outfit for the occasion would be nothing,” he teased, light and sweet as he slid a hand down Victor’s forearm. “It doesn’t make sense to be all dolled up just to have it peeled off later.”

“That’s the charm of it. I wouldn’t have it peeled off by anyone else.”

And Yuuri’s eyes were alight with that; his simple, if not sappily flirty remark that confirmed he was all that Victor wanted the most. His cheeks got warm, his heart beat stronger and more happily than it ever had, and the look of adoration on Victor’s face made it all worth it.

With a fluid movement, Yuuri held his hand in his. “Come, I want to show you my view,” he nodded towards the window where he stood minutes ago, gently leading Victor while he reveled in the warmth of Yuuri’s soft hands.

The window took up most of the wall, showcasing the heart of the city in front of them, elegantly framed by the silhouette of mountains on the horizon. Their fingers entwined in a thoughtless gesture of intimacy as the two of them stood there, watching, softly rubbing their thumbs on the back of each other's’ hands and that felt enough—the silence, the comfort of that affection.

“It’s outstanding,” Victor offered after a while, pressing his side into Yuuri’s. His warmth was familiar, inviting, and soothing, and Victor felt like a hopeless romantic as they gazed upon the city like that.

“Isn’t it?” Yuuri smiled, eyes lost in the view as he gently rested his head on Victor’s shoulder, familiar yet holding some tension in his body as he leaned his frame on Victor’s. “Makes you feel so tiny.”

Victor hummed in agreement, trying not to think too hard of how _lonely_ Yuuri appeared when he’d walked into the room, silent and pensive, looking through the window in that neutral bedroom and how that scene was all too familiar to him. Having known Yuuri for quite some time now, that scene didn’t strike Victor as a good thing, and those skittish glances that Yuuri believed to go unnoticed had been picked up by him since the first minute. Victor thought it was best not to push him into talking, at least not now.

As if sensing that worry stir deep inside Yuuri’s thoughts, Victor swiped his thumb over the back of Yuuri’s hand, relishing in his comforting, reassuring warmth. He didn’t want to rush it. In fact, he wanted to enjoy every moment, so Victor decided to remain silent, basking in Yuuri’s presence, the simplest details he couldn’t have in his everyday life and which made it a terrible offense. It was these moments that Victor found himself reminiscing about once they parted ways, the gentle hold of Yuuri’s soft hand, his sweet, familiar scent, the soothing peace it brought to him. He kissed the top of Yuuri’s head, inhaling the musky scent of his cologne and sighing in relief because for now they were together, and Victor meant to make the most out of it.

“Vitya...” Yuuri broke the silence, his voice sounding a bit apprehensive despite his tongue caressing his name like it was a prayer, stirring next to him but not daring to move away.

He gave Yuuri’s hand a soft, comforting squeeze, reveling at how their hands fit perfectly, fingers entwined. He loved this – the soft touches, simple displays of affection he only ever sought to receive from his Yuuri. Victor remained quiet, softly caressing the back of his hand, aware and fearful for the reason behind Yuuri’s anxiety. He didn’t want to think about it, as he was afraid of for what Yuuri might have in mind to cause him that restlessness. Perhaps if he stayed quiet Yuuri would decide to drop it, favoring to live that made-up reality they’d built together for the night.

It was always a slow, steady-paced rhythm of getting to know each other every time they met, drinking each other in and trying to draw their time out for as long as they could, willing to make a couple of hours enough to satiate the pain they’d felt for months. That cliché of _all-night sex marathon_ , torrid and desperate that was directly associated to lovers who got to meet so sporadically across the span of their affair did not apply to them. For them, it was more than that—although Victor _had_ to admit he’d had ideas about that window the moment Yuuri had called him to have a look at the view.

But Yuuri wasn’t quite himself that night—a bit uneasy, tense under Victor’s hold, it was visible that he was making an effort to make it seem that everything was fine but his discomfort didn’t go unnoticed. It was a well-masked anxiety, but Victor had known him long enough to spot it, although not long enough to know exactly what to do to calm him down. It was the kind of worry that consumed Yuuri with second thoughts and uncertainties about them, how he thought the only possible outcome was some dreadful scandal, and how much he’d blame himself for it.

And as much as he missed Yuuri’s taste, his lips, moans and hands, Victor wouldn’t dare attempt anything if he wasn’t sure Yuuri wanted it, until Yuuri let him know with his body and soul how much he wanted it. The rational part of him knew that kind of talk was inevitable, being only a matter of time until they found a solution or had it blowing behind their backs. He couldn’t stand it – the silence, the tension underlying each moment when they stood so close, yet so far from each other in that room, reserved to their own thoughts immersed in angst when they should be doing _anything_ but that.

“I thought I should get you a gift, but I couldn’t decide on only _one_ thing.” It was Victor’s turn to break the silence, uneasy but hopeful, and Yuuri had been so lost in his own thoughts that he seemed to quiver when Victor spoke, even if slightly.

“You know you don’t have to give me something every time we meet, Vitya,” he scoffed, but it was not meant as a complaint. Victor was aware of how much he loved when he was gifted something, and it hadn’t gone unnoticed how he always made sure to be photographed wearing or displaying the gifts Victor had given him.

“Nonsense,” Victor chuckled, bringing Yuuri’s hand up for a kiss. “To be honest, I feel jealous of all the things I give you. They get to spend more time with you than I ever do.”

When Victor looked at Yuuri, he found him shaking his head in disbelief, almost skittish in his posture.

“I meant to—“

“Shh,” Yuuri silenced him by placing a finger on Victor’s lips, and there was some hesitation in Yuuri’s expression that made that worry stir in him for a moment. His touch was tender, slowly reaching for his cheek, making Victor flutter his eyes shut. “It’s fine,” and Yuuri’s tone was reassuring, soothing, as was the hesitant hand he moved to rest on Victor’s chest. As Victor opened his eyes he found Yuuri’s wide, brown eyes soft as he searched his face for the details he might have missed, painfully sincere. “You’re here now. It’s the best thing I could ask for.”

“Yuuri…” There was a fluttering feeling in his chest that always got him when Yuuri was this close, a silent reassurance that everything would be fine despite their concerns. Yuuri cupped his face tenderly, and Victor leaned into the touch with heavy-lidded eyes.

“I know,” he whispered back, and the corners of his eyes crinkled just a bit in a smile that sought to calm them both down, and that’s what encouraged Victor to place his hands on his hips, timid despite being intimately acquainted.

No matter how many times they kissed or held each other like this, he always felt like a restless teenager baring his heart to his long-time crush. He wondered if he would ever feel any different with Yuuri.

“I’ve missed you. So much,” Victor murmured, watching Yuuri in pure, sincere adoration, receiving an earnest nod in return, holding Victor close as if in hopes they could melt and become one.

“I watched your speech in Berlin,” he commented after a brief silence, voice quiet and gentle, resting his head on Victor’s chest as he basked on the steady rhythm of a heart that beat only for him. “You have no idea how dashing you were in that blue suit.”

“Care to explain?” Victor asked confidently as he tried to get a glimpse of Yuuri’s blushing face.

Yuuri hummed, eyes fluttering shut as he attempted to hide his smile in Victor’s suit. “Gorgeous,” the reply was muffled, whispered into Victor’s chest, and Victor swore he could almost feel the heat on Yuuri’s cheek pressed flat against his chest. “You were like a prince. Dreamlike. Fancy suit, gorgeous face, eloquent and splendid. I was so proud of you.”

Victor laughed, and there was something in that sound that soothed Yuuri’s worries for the moment. It was there, real, and Yuuri knew there were not many people who got to see this side of Victor he got to see.

“You always seem to like me, no matter what I’m dressing,” Victor pointed out with a smile, earning a playful pout in return.

“You’re right. You always take my breath away,” Yuuri admitted with a click of his tongue, resting his chin on Victor’s chest and looking at him with an embarrassed smile. If Victor knew him well, he’d recognized a hint of sadness in his eyes. “What wouldn’t I have given to be there, watching you…”

And Victor’s heart ached. It ached because he wished he could hold Yuuri like this for the rest of his life. Because there was nothing he could do at that moment to make sure he got to spend every single day of his life with Yuuri in his arms. And that shredded his heart to pieces.

Not now. He must be strong for them.

His eyes softened and Victor relaxed as if he’d been carrying a heavy weight on his shoulders. With a caress, he outlined the shape of Yuuri’s lips, worshipping every inch of skin he met.

“Well, you’re here now.” It was a taunt as much as a plea, purred as he gazed deep into Yuuri’s eyes, and Yuuri shivered as he took in the meaning of his words. “Do what you want, Yuuri.”

And Yuuri obliged after an initial hesitance, as if Victor’s proposal had caused him an inner turmoil at first, then eager in his response, claiming Victor’s soft lips with the touch of his own. It was nothing but a gentle press of lips at first, both of them missing this feeling so much they wished it could last forever. Yuuri’s lips were silky, soft and warm, telling Victor a tale of their own as if their bodies spoke in their own language.

It overwhelmed him how much he loved the man in his arms. Yuuri’s scent, his touch, his skin, Victor craved it all for himself. He felt an emptiness that could only be appeased if he had Yuuri close to him. As he held Yuuri’s gaze, Victor knew it was be impossible to keep living his life without a person who so fast had become somebody he couldn’t fathom his life without.

Victor kissed him hard. He’d missed his taste, his tongue, the sweet little noises Yuuri makes when Victor kisses him just how he wants to be kissed, and Yuuri melted in his arms as he returned the kiss with the same passion.

“Vitya…” His name fell from Yuuri’s lips in a soft moan, clear and thick with reverence, filling the silent room as Yuuri pushed him back, suddenly tense as if he’d been reminded of something urgent, terrible, and Victor keened confusedly at the loss of such precious thing.

Victor was dazed, holding himself back from whining like a spoiled child who’d been deprived of his favorite toy, _upset_ of all things for Yuuri breaking their kiss so soon, and it didn’t even cross him what Yuuri’s sudden nervousness might be.

“Yes, love?” Victor inquired, holding him tight like he didn’t know how to let go, because the only thing he ever wanted to do was to keep holding on to him like Yuuri was a part of his very own being.

Yuuri’s lips were reddened, trembling softly as he avoided looking directly into Victor’s eyes, and there was worry.

“... We need to end this.”

Time seemed to stop, the silence that followed those words of a crushing weight as Victor _stilled_ , mind whirling a hundred miles per second as he tried to take in the meaning of those words. He tried to bribe those thoughts, hopeful for a brief moment where he was sure he must have misunderstood him, but as the irrefutable meaning and implication of Yuuri’s words made sense to him Victor panicked. He couldn’t be talking about the end of what they had, not after all of their efforts to make it happen.

But it was the way Yuuri pointedly looked away from him, refusing to look back, deep into his eyes and say word for word what he meant for _this_ that had Victor trembling, words tight in his throat, choking the life out of him. Yuuri couldn’t have just threatened to bring their world to ruin and not spare a glance at him after. He was staggered; gaping at Yuuri as he expected him to laugh it off at any moment, cup his face between his hands and say it was a joke, kissing him apologetically as he promised him to never leave him.

Except that Yuuri didn’t do any of that, and it was what spelled Victor that he was being serious about it. Victor was sure something in him had been crushed, pushing all the air out of his lungs and his will to live along with it. Victor’s own voice sounded unfamiliar to his ears as he heard himself croak.

“What?”

“We can’t—“ Yuuri’s voice trembled, and Victor was appalled for he never before had heard Yuuri sound so fretted, yet so incredibly serious. Sighing, Yuuri balled his fists on his sides as he pushed himself to say it, his own voice strangled as he struggled to speak. “We _can’t_ keep doing this, you know that. We won't be this lucky forever. It’s too dangerous and… We need to put an end to it before something goes wrong.”

Yuuri couldn’t bring himself to say the words he meant to say, and Victor found himself thankful that he couldn’t, for he was sure he couldn’t take much more than that, nor he wanted to believe in what he heard. While he knew and understood Yuuri’s reasoning behind those words, it felt like a blow to his chest when he heard _his_ Yuuri say it, serious and somber like he’d never seen him before.

And the more Victor thought of his words the more it hurt—he wanted to end the meeting in secret, the silence, the deprivations, the risk they put their careers into; the whole affair he had with Victor that would eventually get to public knowledge no matter how careful they were, and how irredeemably terrible it would end if it came to that. Victor’s mind was spiraling as he desperately looked for a solution, for something to hold onto, and answer to convince Yuuri that they could not be torn apart, and fear overwhelmed him.

And Yuuri just swallowed hard at Victor’s expression. Fear, heartache, and anguish were written all over his face in a way that had Yuuri shaking in his arms, and Yuuri felt _awful_ for being the cause behind all of this. Victor deserved better, so much better. He’d feared breaking his lover that way, and Yuuri _hated_ himself for saying those words because he knew bone-deep he didn’t mean it. He couldn’t do it, even if it was the right thing to do.

“What do I need to do, Yuuri?”

The pain in Victor’s voice was alcohol in an open wound, sharp and deep and heartbreaking. It was vulnerable, of all things—not tenacious or cross, like Yuuri had expected.

 _Find someone else to give your love to_ would have been an answer, but one Yuuri would absolutely hate himself for saying. He couldn’t fathom the thought of it, even if he knew it would be so much better for them. _Move on_ , he could say, but he didn’t want Victor to go somewhere he couldn’t follow. _Forget about me_ , but how could he ask Victor to forget the person who’d brought so much joy and comfort to his life, someone who was so desperately in love he regretted the words he’d said the moment they left his mouth?

“N-nothing,” Yuuri mumbled, trying to be tough, trying to convince himself that this was the right thing to do no matter how much it hurt, but his voice betrayed him with a crack that showed nothing but worry. Then Victor tugged at Yuuri’s suit, fists balling in the expensive fabric, unconcerned about wrinkling it when Yuuri had just threatened to ruin the thing he treasured the most in his life.

“No. There must be something. You just have to say it, Yuuri,” he begged, eyes wide in desperation. “I'll give up on everything if that's the price. I’ll quit tomorrow. I’ll do what it takes, just _please_ don’t say that again,” and even though his voice was unsteady the urgency in his words guaranteed to Yuuri that he was serious. “You know I can do it for us. You just have to ask me. I’ll fight the world alone for you, but not this. I can’t do it, Yuuri, anything but _this_.”

Yuuri’s lips quivered, his eyes welling tears as he finally found the courage to meet Victor’s gaze. He knew it wouldn’t be easy, and he knew deep in his heart he couldn’t bring himself to break Victor’s heart, not the man he loved so much, who bared his heart fearlessly in despair, pleading the words Yuuri didn’t know how to react to, words that spoke of a love so deep he couldn’t believe it was all for him.

Victor was shaking, eyes burning with the threat of tears, the weight and seriousness of it just now settling in on him, though no regret was to be found in his words. He took deep breaths in the hopes of calming down, to look into Yuuri’s wide eyes and _see, feel_ what he was feeling, and while Yuuri was not smiling with his lips he was smiling with his teary eyes.

Hearing those words from anyone else would seem unreasonable, but of course Victor Nikiforov was dead serious about it, just how he always was whenever it concerned Yuuri Katsuki. And that was what hurt the most, as much as it filled him with pride. Victor, who broke protocols just for the sake of seeing him, who admired him ever since Yuuri had been elected Prime Minister, who Yuuri had irredeemably fallen in love with as the happiest accident of his life, who would charm the pants off a statue and to pluck the moon from the sky just to please him if that was what it took to stay close to him. He meant every word that he said, no strings attached.

“How is it that you love me so much? What have I done to deserve you?” Yuuri sobbed a dry laugh, wiping away the tears rolling down his cheeks on his suit’s sleeves as he realized he _couldn’t_ do it – not _now_ , when Victor looked at him like he was gazing upon the sun, moon and stars combined, like his whole world and universe and everything he cared about were made into a person. He couldn’t bring himself to hurt him that way, even if it was the right thing to do, inevitable that they would have to face sooner or later. Yuuri watched Victor’s panic subside and his expression grow fonder by the second, blue eyes welling tears that threatened to spill.

Victor simply shook his head, a sad smile on his lips that spoke volumes of his love for Yuuri, that told him no words would suffice to explain his love for him, and Yuuri accepted it.

“Don’t do this to us,” he pleaded, and it hurt in Victor’s soul that for just a second he almost added _not right now_ , as he was bribing Yuuri into procrastinating their fate. Even though his voice faltered, his eyes were soft, filled with promises of all the things they never really talked about, a mutual understanding flowing silently between them.

What served him as solace was that they would have to carry this conversation some other time, separating them for an indeterminate amount of time. But it wasn’t _now_ , the moment they had been expecting for so long to be together after months apart, aching and hoping for a few hours in the privacy of a hotel room; not _now_ , when they had to make up for so much time lost, when their souls were finally whole again and they could hold one another. Victor didn’t want to talk about it for a second longer, not until they took some time to heal their wounds. He understood that Yuuri meant best for the both of them, that rationally that would be the best thing to do, but he couldn’t help being a stubborn man in love, who’d just now found what living really meant.

His voice faltered as he spoke, his eyes were soft, filled with promises of all the things they never really talked about, a mutual understanding flowing silently between them.

“Will you be mine for tonight, Yuuri?” And it almost felt like asking for the forbidden, asking for too much and yet not nearly enough.

Yuuri shuddered, his breath caressing Victor’s lips, nodding softly because there was nothing else he wanted more. If he was allowed to be honest with himself for a single selfish second, he wanted to be Victor’s, not only for tonight but for the rest of his life, and if they could play-pretend for one night he would get off on the thought of having a blissfully ordinary life with his _boyfriend_ , kissing him like he was born to do it. He wanted the world to know Victor was his, and that he was Victor’s and no one else’s, and in that little universe they could.

“I’ll be yours forever,” Yuuri breathed with a trembling smile. “You just have to ask, Vitya.”

Watching Victor’s lips curl in bliss and his expression light up made Yuuri’s heart flutter.

“Will you be mine? Forever?” Their foreheads bumped together, and the smile Victor beamed burned bright like a thousand suns. Yuuri could swear it was the happiest Victor had ever been, and he took satisfaction in knowing the reason behind that happiness was him. No one could ever make Victor as happy as he did.

“Yes,” Yuuri smiled, voice shaky with emotions stirring deep in his chest as he pulled him in for a kiss. “Of course I will, you stubborn Russian.”

Victor tasted tears in their kiss. It didn’t matter to who they belonged to.

“And you’re mine,” Yuuri whispered hastily, smiling through it, and it felt so good to shed his skin with Victor, to finally feel comfortable enough to just be himself around him and not a notorious figure who held power over the world. It felt so good to drop that diplomatic mask and breathe fresh air with him, allowing themselves not to worry for just a night. It had taken him a while, but Yuuri realized that his anxiety, much like his other worries, should have stayed outside with the world the moment Victor set foot in his room, and the only _right thing_ to do was to make Victor happy.

Victor’s fingers dug on Yuuri’s waist, a light shudder running down his spine in response to his words. “All yours,” he nodded. “Only yours.”

He knew there was no force strong enough in this world to tear them apart. They kissed slowly at first, exhilarated, smiling into the kiss as their hands explored their bodies, trying to commit to memory curves, sensations and reactions. Victor’s thumb grazed on the curve of Yuuri’s cheekbone as Yuuri carded his fingers through Victor’s hair, and they were at peace, silently cherishing each other’s presence, letting their bodies get across what words could not.

It was only a matter of minutes until their kiss grew frenzied, urgent and heated, holding onto each other like drowning men, and they were quick to discard the hurt feelings and sad thoughts from minutes ago. The tension had always been there, underlining every word spoken, every look shared, and it was only when their bodies were allowed to speak their own language that those intense feelings finally blossomed, burning under their skins like embers.

Yuuri sucked on Victor’s tongue, tilting his head back and inviting him to take what he wanted, what they’d missed so badly, to claim all of him as his own. _Claim_ him. And Victor did it with hunger and passion; the sound of their wet kisses filling the silence of Yuuri’s room as well as the soft, breathy noises they made, hands mapping each other’s bodies with reverence. With his eyes shut, focusing on sensation after sensation, Victor reveled at Yuuri’s sighs as he nipped on his bottom lip, his fingers on Yuuri’s waist pulling him as close as physically possible.

Then Yuuri tugged firmly at Victor’s tie, having had enough and at the same time not nearly enough of his tease, making it a leash with which he led Victor back to his bed, pushing him towards it. Victor’s legs met the edge of it and he fell on his back, a kiss turned gasp, then moan as he watched his Yuuri take control. With a swift movement, Yuuri was straddling him, and his dark eyes were filled with a want that made Victor shudder.

“You look really dashing, but this needs to go,” Yuuri groaned, undoing Victor’s tie, leaving the Russian staring back at him with his mouth agape as wonder had the best of him. “All of this,” he continued, gesturing at his suit and wasting no time to work on the first buttons. “I want to see you the way I can’t in magazines.”

“Fuck,” was all Victor managed to growl, wetting his lips before Yuuri claimed them with need, blunt fingers working the buttons of Victor’s waistcoat one by one, cursing those unnecessary layers that kept him from Victor and pushing it open as he rocked his hips slowly in his lap, firm and sensual.

And it was the satisfied smirk Yuuri offered him as he relished in his surprise that ground Victor in that moment, the delightful reminder that this was not a dream – that Yuuri was there, real, and very much straddling him. He gripped Yuuri’s thighs to encourage him to keep moving, pulling him back for a kiss before Yuuri continued undressing him, earning a gentle mewl in response.

Victor snapped. He rolled on top of Yuuri, switching their positions with ease, receiving a gasp of pleased surprise from his lover who widened his eyes to gaze back at him, rewarding Victor with a sensual smile as he locked his thighs around his waist.

“Undress me, Mister President,” Yuuri purred teasingly, rolling his body in a lewd fashion.

And Yuuri knew Victor could never say no to him. Not with Yuuri’s voice being so smooth and his eyes so dark, filled with unspoken promises, focused on Victor and leaving no room for him to wonder what he felt. It was passion, smoldering embers that could set the world aflame, and devotion so absolute he lacked words to describe it.

So he indulged Yuuri’s request, not without taking his time to kiss and adore every new inch of skin he uncovered until Yuuri was frowning and squirming impatiently. He kissed a trail from Yuuri’s jawline to the base of his neck, deft fingers working the buttons of his shirt open with unerring patience. It took no time until he had Yuuri writhing, painfully hard in his slacks, pushing his hips up to meet Victor’s as he moaned and shrugged his suit off. Every new inch of exposed skin was met with soft, warm lips and wet tongue, being claimed and conquered with kisses so tender, with such awe and reverence that it made Yuuri blush as Victor made him feel like the most beautiful, beloved creature on the face of this earth.

His eyes met Yuuri’s as he was about to tease Yuuri’s pink, pebbled nipple, and Victor smirked.  

“Do you think I should save mapping your body for later?” He chuckled, resuming the path down Yuuri’s stomach, placing more kisses as he reached the lower buttons of his shirt.

“Please,” Yuuri whined, grasping at Victor’s shirt and pulling him close, and while it was not all the time they needed to intoxicate themselves with one another, it’d have to be enough. “I need you.”

While Victor worked the last buttons of Yuuri’s shirt open, Yuuri did the same, his hands clumsy and trembling as he slid the offending clothing off Victor’s shoulders, groaning in satisfaction at the sight he’s rewarded with. Victor’s firm, flawless skin was maddening, and Yuuri could only think about how much he wanted to mark him, leave evidence of this meeting on Victor’s skin so he’d carry a part of him on his way back to Russia.

“I’m not done with you, Yuuri,” he heard Victor lilt above him, voice dark and lewd, that made his skin prickle in response, and Yuuri met his gaze. Soon, Victor captured his lips with a slow, intoxicating kiss that made him melt under his weight, barely registering when Victor pulled his pants off.

But he needed more—skin, heat, mouth and hands. He had been deprived of Victor for far too long, and just the thought of how he had been dying of anticipation for this very moment made Yuuri want to cry with relief. And as much as he enjoyed every second of Victor’s mouth on his, he was desperate for more, fingers struggling to unbuckle Victor’s belt and pull his pants down and groaning, satisfied as he was _finally_ rewarded with the feeling of skin on skin he had ached for so long.

“You’re feisty today,” Victor purred the praise, sounding undeniably aroused on the crook of his neck, and it was definitely not the cool air in the room that had Yuuri shivering. Coaxing and soft, he requested, “Will you turn on your stomach for me, love?”

And Yuuri almost _whined_. It was not fair, he thought, when he’d just barely gotten to see Victor’s skin, to feel it pressed on his chest. He hadn’t had a chance to feel it, to explore it properly like Victor had, but he does as he’s asked, arching his back as he lied with his stomach flat on the bed. And it’s so worth it—soon enough he was rewarded with the warm sensation of Victor’s lips on the back of his neck, his breath hot on his skin, and the wonderful weight of Victor’s body pressed on his. It’s almost too much—his chest pressed on Yuuri’s bare back, the distinct shape of Victor’s hard cock pressing on his ass, and Yuuri was shamelessly moaning against the sheets, uncaring of the security standing guard by the doors outside of his room.

Watching Yuuri shiver and fall apart bit by bit was Victor’s favorite thing to witness. Thin hairs all over Yuuri’s skin stood on end as Victor created a path down his spine, singing silent praises for what he did to him. His hands trailed down Yuuri’s sides, committing his curves to memory as Victor’s lips reached the small of his back, and Yuuri arched his hips to meet his lips.

“Look at you, love. So gorgeous, so responsive,” Victor whispered the praise on Yuuri’s skin, feeling him shudder in reaction, a wordless request for more.

Playful, his fingers hooked the waistband of Yuuri’s briefs, tugging them down inch by inch to reveal new skin which Victor greeted with soft, gentle bites, testing Yuuri’s patience with a smirk on his lips. As the briefs revealed the curve of Yuuri’s ass it was impossible for Victor to resist biting the light skin a little harder, making Yuuri writhe.

“Come on, Vitya,” Yuuri whined, arching his back, seeking more of Victor’s lips, and Victor chuckled.

“I think I should take my time,” he taunted, teeth grazing on the pale, sensitive skin of his ass. “Looks like you’re enjoying it.”

And it was true. Yuuri wanted more, but the way Victor had him flipped on his stomach, biting the sensitive skin of the curve of his ass and inner thighs and leaving marks all over his body just made Yuuri harder. It was only when Victor pointed it out that he noticed he’d been grinding softly against the mattress, unwittingly seeking for more pleasure. Victor hummed a sweet little praise to that, biting his other cheek to earn another moan and watch Yuuri press his hips against the bed.

“Can’t help it. I’ve missed this.” The confession fell from Yuuri’s lips with a sigh, genuine and blushing a little. “I’ve missed you, your touch, everything…”

The reply came as a drag of his teeth on Yuuri’s ass as Victor pulled his briefs all the way down, groaning in approval as he undressed his lover. Yuuri wanted more. He wanted Victor to touch him properly, to claim and mark him like he’d been aching for, but Victor paused for a brief moment to take in the sight of Yuuri fully exposed in front of him. He was incapable of forming coherent words, but the feeling was there—the appreciation for everything Yuuri meant to him, how much he wanted this, to claim Yuuri with all he had, mark him and make him remember why he’s _Victor’s_.

“Vitya, get on with it, _please_!” He complained softly.

The sound of Victor’s growl matched Yuuri’s anticipation, and Yuuri shuddered at how _primal_ it sounded. Balling his fists on the fancy white sheets underneath him, Yuuri braced himself for whatever Victor’s mind was planning to do to him while his brain felt like it was floating above his body, feeling Victor’s arms wrap around his legs and pull his ass up.

He couldn’t have prepared himself enough for the feeling of Victor’s hot, wet tongue lapping at his entrance. The gesture echoed through him, reverberating in his muscles as his moan got trapped in his throat with a sharp gasp, being followed by utter relaxation. Victor knew what he wanted, what he needed better than Yuuri himself, and the way he circled and pressed his tongue on his entrance that was begging for so much more made Yuuri groan.

Victor was diligent, working him thoroughly slowly, drawing circular shapes with the tips of his fingers on the small of his back while taking his time to please as much as tease Yuuri for what was to come. Victor’s tongue was maddening, skilled and mischievous like no other. The firm grip on his hips and the tongue that licked, pressed and swirled were winding him up, assuring Yuuri he’d not stop until Yuuri begged hard enough for more, for him, for everything Victor had to give.

There was nothing quite as rewarding to Victor as hearing Yuuri moan and shudder from the attention he was giving him, feeling so good under his care. Victor felt heady, cock hard and leaking in his slacks, ruining his expensive suit while he paid it no mind, reveling at Yuuri’s sweet little noises as he teased his entrance with the tip of his tongue. It was gorgeous, he thought, and just when he was about to hear a complaint Victor eased a finger into his ass, earning a sigh of relief in response. And Victor taunted him, suggesting movements of what they so desperately wanted with his finger, easing in and out with slow drags, swirling around and burying himself up to his knuckle as Yuuri moaned, relishing the stretch but seeking more.

It was only when he reached for that sweet spot to tease Yuuri a little further that he broke him. Yuuri arched his back and a loud, lewd moan fell from his lips as he tried to roll his hips for more friction.

“Beautiful.” The voice that praised Yuuri was dark, velvety and filled with want, adding another finger and starting to show a bit of his own impatience, still careful enough not to hurt him. “Be good for me, Yuuri, and I’ll give you so much more.”

Yuuri shivered at his voice, praise soothing him, unable to stop the moan that escaped his throat as Victor resumed teasing him. He wanted to be good, he wanted to do everything that would assure him that he would get what Victor had in store for him, but it was like his body had a mind of his own, rolling his hips back to meet his digits, attempting to get them further to please him like only Victor could. Mesmerized, Victor watched Yuuri grind so desperately on his fingers he barely had to move them, fucking himself in earnest, and Yuuri whimpered as he realized that just fingers wouldn’t do it for him.

Propping himself on his elbows, Yuuri turned around to beg Victor with his eyes, foggy and dark, because maybe like that Victor would understand how _bad_ he needed him, and those heavy-lidded eyes made Victor groan. Pink, swollen lips, begging to be kissed, bitten, fucked, parted just enough for Yuuri to lick them slow and sensual, and if Victor wasn’t so intent on giving Yuuri the best fuck of his life he’d have come there and then, gaze fixed onto Yuuri’s eyes.

Somehow, Victor was chuckling. “You want more, don’t you, love?”

“Just _fuck me_ already, _please_ ,” Yuuri stuttered in blind lust, clenching his ass around Victor’s fingers. “Can’t you see how much I want you?” He cooed, and knowing him the way Yuuri did he could tell exactly when the switch in Victor’s brain flipped as his jaw dropped and eyes grew darker.

With a fluid movement, Yuuri was laid on his back with the help of Victor’s hands on his thighs, and just when he was about to lock his legs around Victor’s waist was when he noticed how Victor still had his pants on, the shape of his cock strained and evident from the stretched fabric of his suit pants. Before Yuuri could even say anything Victor stood up, eyes scrutinizing the bedroom in search of something, and it’s Yuuri who’s chuckling this time, scooting to the center of the bed with mischievous eyes as Victor looked back at him.

“Where…?” The question echoed, his voice raspy, low, and thick on his accent as it usually got when Victor was this aroused. Yuuri reached under his pillows in search of something, and that got his attention.

“You want these?” Yuuri hummed, throwing a bottle of lube and a pack of condoms at the end of the bed and Victor paused, gaze flickering between the items and Yuuri, and when it dawned on him that Yuuri had prepared for this as he made his way to the hotel it filled him with warm anticipation.

Victor’s smirk was dark, delighted and filled with feelings Yuuri lacked words to describe, and he could only sigh as he watched those blue, bright eyes turn dark and wild. Eager hands fumbled at his belt with metallic clinks, but Yuuri barely registered that as his eyes were fixed on Victor’s figure. It was lean, sculpted, firm, and Yuuri caught himself biting his lip when Victor hooked his thumbs under the waistband, rolling his hips slowly and kicking the offending clothes off to present himself to Yuuri. Bearing his gaze, Yuuri could feel his own greed and selfish need to have Victor all to himself.

He wasn’t sure why he was feeling lightheaded as he watched Victor move closer to the bed, slow and sure like a predator. Maybe it was because all the blood in his body had flushed to his cock, making it twitch with interest as Victor spread his legs and leaned closer. Maybe it was because of the way Victor silently promised he was going to ruin Yuuri in the best way possible with that look, and how at the same time he found the purest form of affection in those eyes. Either way, he made a needy whine as his eyes met Victor’s hard, leaking cock so close to where he wanted, and Yuuri craved it.

“Please,” he begged, and he wasn’t sure what he was begging for but his mouth was watering and heat was pooling in his lower stomach.

His hands reached Victor’s waist and Yuuri smiled contently at the familiar feeling of his lover’s warm, soft skin. The gentle yet firm touch made Victor shudder and he lingered, searching Yuuri’s meaning in his eyes and feeling his heart race in adoration at Yuuri’s pleading expression.

And his touches grew softer, controlled, almost worshipful, the tips of his fingers exploring Victor’s sides and sliding up, trying to commit the feeling of his skin to memory, twining his fingers into Victor’s hair and pushing him back on the bed with all the care in the world. Victor was agog, watching him attentively, wondering what he meant to do as he took the lead again.

The way Yuuri kissed his jaw made him realize Yuuri was adoring his body the way he did to him, loving and kissing him and making him sure of how treasured he was. Yuuri did just that, letting himself kiss Victor’s neck, chest, and his abs as he breathed his lusty heavy breaths and bit gentle marks on that perfect skin that was made to be worshiped. And Victor melted, letting his head fall back on the bed, sighing Yuuri’s name like a prayer and drawing shapes on the back of his neck.

That’s when Yuuri couldn’t resist the urge to peek at him, watch the world-known Russian president Victor Nikiforov blinking his eyes shut and delivering himself entirely to him, slowly falling apart as Yuuri kissed the top of his thighs, just like how he couldn’t resist chuckling as he saw Victor’s ravenous gaze staring back at him with a question hanging in the air.

“You’re mine,” Yuuri purred with an amused huff, satisfaction and assurance dripping from every word, and Victor held his breath as Yuuri’s lips brushed on that skin so close to his cock. “All of this. Your cock, your smile, your body, your heart. It’s all mine, and only I can see you this way.”

Victor sighed something in a language he barely registered, definitely in agreement with what Yuuri declared, closing his eyes just for a moment to relish the feeling of his lips lighting a fire on his skin. And he groaned, a deep rumble in his chest, as he realized where Yuuri’s lips were going, blinking his eyes open to find Yuuri’s satisfied smile as he kept kissing and nipping the sensitive skin of his inner thighs, and all Victor could do was open his legs further and thread his fingers through Yuuri’s coarse, dark hair.

But Yuuri wanted to wind Victor up more, as much as he could, wanted to hear him beg in all the languages he knew with his breath wrecked and take pride in knowing it was all for him. And the way Yuuri ran his teeth up his inner thigh made Victor hold his breath, lips parted as he watched intently the mocking rehearsal of what Yuuri was going to do to him. Gently, he pulled Yuuri just far enough up for eye contact, and he reveled on the full-blown pupils and pink, plump lips that smirked at him, well aware of what Victor was about to ask.

“If I’m yours then why don’t you just take what you want, Yuuri?” He teased, drawing the shape of Yuuri’s jawline with his thumb as he propped himself on an elbow, observing Yuuri with a quirked eyebrow.

“Because if you are good to me I’m going to give you so much more, Vitya,” Yuuri retorted with a sweet smile, his voice a soft purr, tracing the shape of Victor’s throbbing cock with the tip of his finger and making him shudder. “You just have to be a good boy and wait.”

Oh, and Victor wanted to be so good for him, he wanted to be the best for Yuuri so he could earn _everything_ Yuuri had in store for him, but he was also impatient – needy and moody, wanting everything _now._

“But haven’t we waited long enough, darling?” Victor _pouted_ , murmuring the question with a soft, hesitant voice that made Yuuri pause and squint at him, measuring his words with his mouth hung open.

“Oh, I see. So _you_ get to tease me for as long as you want but I don’t?” Yuuri smirked, mocking, pinching his inner thigh and earning a yelp. “Not very democratic of you, Mister President. I should do something about this.”

Yuuri sucked on his bottom lip, giving Victor time enough to take in his words and let his mind paint the scenarios, watching him and waiting for a response with heavy-lidded eyes. Victor found it very hard to talk as Yuuri resumed drawing the tip of his finger down the length of his cock, pressing the underside and feeling him pulsate under his touch.

“Maybe you don’t deserve to come with that attitude,” Yuuri purred, just to wound him up, feeling his chest burn as Victor whined at the suggestion. “Are you a naughty boy, Vitya?”

“I mean… Weren’t you just begging to be fucked two minutes ago?” Victor hummed noncommittally, brushing the pad of his thumb on Yuuri’s cheekbone and watching him lean into the touch. It was insane how Yuuri made Victor want to give him absolutely everything without even resorting to words, how he could make Victor want to spoil him rotten with love, attention and everything Yuuri could have craved in his life forever.

“Perhaps I’ve changed my mind,” Yuuri lilted, blinking his eyes open as he considered Victor’s comment, eyes alight with a naughty intent. “I could fuck _you_ now and leave you hanging on the edge, chasing for release that won’t come for you. I’d watch you writhe under me as I fuck you into the mattress, and it’s quite the gorgeous sight.”

Victor hummed in approval, feeling a wave of arousal wash over his body with the memories Yuuri stirred with those words, playful and full of promises. He’d missed this, the lively banter they always had while having sex and the feeling of being comfortable enough to tease, laugh, and satisfy each other in a way no other souls in this world could.

“Don’t hold back, then,” Victor smirked, making his words a challenge and an order all at once, an open invitation for Yuuri to do his worst to him as he watched still, biting his lip in veiled restraint.

Yuuri was not one to back down on anything, especially not on Victor.  Resolute on not wasting any more time and taking advantage of having Victor’s gaze fixed on him, Yuuri wet his lips one last time before laying between his legs and taking Victor’s cock into his mouth with a slow drag of his lips around his girth, sealing him tight between them, pressing his tongue flat on the underside.

A low gasp fell from Victor’s lips in response, his fingers threading through Yuuri’s dark hair as his head fell back, exhaling a sharp breath. He moaned loudly, not worrying about being possibly heard by their secret service or anyone else as Yuuri’s tongue swirled languidly, skillfully around the tip of his cock, watching the scene of Yuuri sucking him with dark, worshipful eyes was almost enough to make Victor fall apart.

“Always full of surprises,” Victor praised, massaging Yuuri’s scalp in appreciation, making Yuuri flutter his eyes shut. “You’re so good to me, love. Can you take it all in?” Victor asked in a delicate voice, and with a proud glimmer in his dark eyes Yuuri took him all the way to the back of his throat, slow and tight around him.

His jaw hung open, forming silent words that weren’t English anymore as his fingers tangled in Yuuri’s hair, focusing on pleasure after pleasure as Yuuri bobbed his head, licking and sucking him with wet noises and soft moans. Leisurely, Yuuri played him like an instrument he knew well, earning moans and gentle gasps as he delivered Victor what he wanted and more. And eventually Victor tugged Yuuri’s hair with tenderness, keeping him in place to rock his hips slowly, fucking Yuuri’s face with drawn-out thrusts. Yuuri watched him closely, enjoying every second he got to see of Victor’s reaction, the way his chest burned with delight to see Victor enjoying himself, heavy-lidded gaze fixed on him, knowing he was the only person who Victor would give his control to like this, and that thought sent tension pooling in his groin.

“Yuuri...” Victor hissed his name, his voice had a bit of an edge that bit deep into his skin as Yuuri increased the rhythm, tears pooling on the corners of his eyes as he held his gaze, swallowing him back deep in his throat and massaging his length all the way up with wide stripes of his tongue, pulling the soft skin with his lips over and over as Victor kept thrusting.

There was an indescribable satisfaction in watching Victor take what he wanted from him, the way he flushed pink across his cheeks, his unsteady breath and that ravenous gaze that sang silent praises to Yuuri never abandoning him. Yuuri sucked him hard, bobbing his head in rhythm to give Victor his everything, to make him feel good the way he never felt when he wasn’t with Yuuri, and Victor _groaned_ , tilting his head back as Yuuri massaged his balls.

Yuuri felt Victor’s body shudder as his thrusts got more erratic, chasing his orgasm and tense with need under his hands, and that was enough for him to know Victor was getting close, pulling back before it was too late. Victor whined, squinting his eyes at Yuuri silently accusing him of cruelty.

“Not so fast, big boy,” Yuuri chuckled, voice raspy and sensual as he sat on Victor’s thighs, reaching back for the bottle of lube. “I want your everything.”

And Victor was the perfect portrait of a mess – cheeks and chest flushed pink, heavy breath, the slightly disheveled hair that made him look even more seductive somehow, and it was so insanely satisfying for Yuuri to know that he affected Victor that way, that Victor _loved_ _it_ after all. He laughed, running his fingers through the silver strands while his other hand mapped the curve of Yuuri’s ass slowly, then gently reaching out to thumb at the slit of Yuuri’s cock, smearing precome down his shaft with a slow, steady stroke.

“And just what are you going to do to me now, my love?” He asked, watching Yuuri open the pack of condoms with a fire burning inside of him, biting his lower lip in a futile attempt to restrain his moans.

Without ceremonies, Yuuri slid the condom down Victor’s shaft, quick and precise, pouring some lube on his fingers and reaching back to work himself open while rocking his hips to fuck Victor’s fist. His smile was cheeky, almost innocent if it wasn’t for the deliberate low moan that fell from his lips as Yuuri pressed his fingers deep, stretching faster this time, and Victor was already losing it.

“I want you in me,” Yuuri groaned, rocking his hips in a slow, steady cadence, giving Victor a show. “I want you to ruin me. I _need_ you, Vitya.”

“ _Fuck, Yuuri_ ,” Victor moaned then, spreading Yuuri’s cheeks while he worked himself open, his breath heavy and grip tight.

Yuuri took control, holding Victor’s dick and lowering himself slowly, rejoicing at the feeling of the throbbing head pulsing at his entrance, pressing down and relaxing to take him in. He rolled his hips, taking him in inch by inch, popping in and passing the ring of muscle, sliding in torturously slow until Yuuri quivered on Victor’s lap, head falling back in pleasure, moaning at the sensation of being full. He wrapped his arms around Victor’s shoulders for balance, rolling his hips gently while he reveled in Victor’s weak groans.

Victor gave him a moment to get used to the stretch, taking the opportunity to draw in deep, slow breaths to control himself. It was maddening, being surrounded by Yuuri’s heat, so tight and lovely, squeezing around him so pleasantly that Victor shuddered as he pressed in a few inches more.

It was something beautiful to see, Yuuri capturing Victor’s lips in a slow, sensual kiss as he ground his hips gently, guiding Victor’s hands to explore his body and make him feel _good_ , his own erection completely forgotten as he turned his focus on Victor, on how wonderful, how _right_ he felt in him, drawing out moans and sighs at the slightest move of his hips.

Victor helped him raise a bit, thrusting gently, picking up a pace that built upon the last thrust until Yuuri felt comfortable enough to ride him, moaning and shuddering every time Victor jolted in deep, hitting that sensitive area flawlessly as was each of his thrusts’ purpose. It was amazing, fantastic, and Victor wanted more, each new thrust driving his desire brighter and hotter. Yuuri could hear himself urging Victor on, demanding more, _deeper, faster_ , being bent in half as Victor laid him on his back and fucked him into the mattress, and he could hear Victor’s endless stream of praise fall on his ears, his neck, his lips, mixing with his own rough panting.

“You take it so well, love,” Victor was all taunt and tease, and Yuuri cried out, latching onto Victor’s neck in an attempt to muffle the sounds just to have Victor’s fingers tug at his hair. “If only you could see yourself, how good you look all wrecked and desperate like this.”

He felt the ghost of Victor’s lips on his skin, those lips that kissed and bit pink and red marks all over his neck and chest, and Yuuri knew he was ruined. Yuuri choked on a moan, twitching and spasming as he came embarrassingly quickly, the feeling of it ripping through his whole body as he held on to his lover and cried his name out loud.

“Good boy,” Victor whispered as he watched him spill on his stomach, curling and jolting as his orgasm washed over him in waves of hot, white pleasure, and if Yuuri wasn’t already coming undone those two simple words would have sufficed to utterly ruin him.

“D-don’t stop,” Yuuri asked him feebly, being fucked through his orgasm, deliciously overstimulated, frantic and wild in his thrusts, hearing whispered praises that made Yuuri’s head whirl.

More unrelenting snaps of his hips and Victor had Yuuri falling to pieces, slamming against that spot over and over with that steady pace increasing to something frantic all too quickly until he brought him to the brink again and he held on, clenching around Victor’s girth and not letting go until he heard his lover crooning his name as he came hard, taking him along in drawn-out thrusts of deliciously spellbinding pleasure.

They rested like that, temporarily fucked silly in each other’s arms, the comedown from this frenzy full of kisses and sweetly whispered words and heart-eyed affections. Limply, Victor cleaned them up after a while, just so they could feel more comfortable before taking a shower, discarding the used condom and wiping their stomachs with a damp paper. They knew they needed to clean up properly, but Yuuri had a bath in his room, and that probably meant they should take a little break to catch their breaths. Pressing their flushed cheeks together, Victor hummed in satisfaction as they quietly enjoyed each other’s presence, still riding high on that satisfaction.

“You’re going to sleep over, right?” Yuuri asked after a while, voice soft and tentative pulling Victor from his thoughts.

He smiled at Yuuri, brushing a few strands of sweaty dark hair away from his face and caressing his cheek as he allowed himself a moment to gaze at Yuuri’s bare splendor. He looked even more charming like that, spent, blushing and fucked silly, making Victor’s heart beat harder.

Victor couldn’t fathom a life without Yuuri in it. Pulling him into a hug, Victor kissed the top of his head.

“Of course, babe,” he hummed between kisses, relishing the feeling of Yuuri’s almost feverish skin on his. His men could wait for him a little longer.

 

* * *

 

 

The morning light crept through the thin gap between the curtains, insistently bright and unforgiving against Victor’s eyelids. He buried his face in the pillows and snuggled deeper into the warmth, finding Yuuri’s soft frame relaxed beside him and seeking to chase the last touches of sleep. It was early, too early to get up and face the serious reality that waited outside that room. Too early to put on his mask and leave Yuuri again.

Victor fluttered his eyes shut, holding Yuuri tight in his arms, pressing his chest on his back. He wished he could wake up to that every morning, the comforting warmth that radiated from Yuuri’s body, the feeling of their legs tangled like they meant to sleep like that every night. Maybe if he tried hard enough and fell asleep again he would wake up in that reality.

Throughout their night together they’d taken short naps, cuddled close together, playing a game of normal people where they swapped opinions on the latest books they’d read, the movies they wanted to watch, making plans both of them knew couldn’t come true, acting painfully casual and lighthearted like other people did without realizing how crucial it was.

They shared simple updates that were not that simple to share in long distance, things they didn’t get to talk about through text or too-quick-to-end Skype calls. Thought provoking. Soul-baring. When it was almost morning both of them were exhausted, nearly satisfied with the tenderness and affection they’d shared despite the prodding angst that followed the silent moments between them; memories of their unsolved issues resurfacing with a bittersweet taste to remind them they couldn’t have this for long.

Yuuri stirred in his sleep, each movement heavy with sleep but of a grace so natural Victor knew even if he saw it every day he could never get tired of it. He remained still, silently wishing that Yuuri would fall asleep again so they could enjoy it a bit longer, basking in each other’s warmth for a couple of minutes more.

“Morning,” Yuuri whispered. His voice was husky with sleep, if a bit hurt from last night. He cuddled back, wriggling to slot back against Victor, purring softly in response. “Mm… What you got here for me?”

He reached back, smoothing his fingers along the expanse of Victor’s thigh and Victor’s hips twitched lightly. In response, Victor pulled him closer, draping his arm around Yuuri’s waist.

“Sorry,” he replied, grouchy in his drowsiness, and Yuuri shimmied back with a soft, lazy chuckle escaping his lips.

“Don’t be. I’m no better,” he said, pulling Victor’s hand to caress his stomach, guiding him down slow and patient as their fingers entwined.

“Yuuri…” Victor sighed, throaty and thick and it sent shivers of longing through Yuuri’s body. Yuuri felt his lips on the back of his neck, kissing and marking him where it would be safely hidden.

In a few hours, all of this would be just another memory, Victor thought, soothing Yuuri’s side as he pressed against him. In a few hours, he’d be on a flight out of there, and this would be the last time they’d see of each other in a long, indefinite time. He had little trinkets and souvenirs he’d purchased during his stay in Switzerland, none of them particularly meaningful as what Yuuri had offered him last night. The marks would fade, and pieces of these memories would too eventually.

“I can almost hear your thoughts, love,” Yuuri said, tipping his hips back, sleepily pressing against his length. “Tell your worries to leave you alone. You’re mine now.”

Victor’s breath caught, a soft smile spreading on his lips as he kissed Yuuri’s neck, bringing the world back to focus one blink at a time. “Think you could help me with that?”

Yuuri bit his lip to suppress a shallow gasp, turning around to have Victor in his arms and kiss him. It was a precious thing to do in the morning, he realized, and he should have done this sooner. He knew exactly what was going through Victor’s mind; the sadness that crept up with the sunrise, a telltale of how that reverie of theirs would need to come to an end, pretend to be forgotten, repressed for their own sake. And the thought of it one day not existing was enough to make Yuuri sick.

“I can’t allow you to leave my bed still wanting,” Yuuri teased, draping one leg over Victor’s hip.

It was a slow morning for them. Passionate, exploring each other all over again, even more gentle and filled with care than the night before, because they were both aware that this could be the last, and they couldn’t be sure when they’d be able to meet again. It was all about letting across how much love they had in store, silent promises that it would remain the same, strong despite the hardships to come.

They tried to simulate a semblance of normality in everything they did, for the novelty of being together was still fresh. Showering, making each other coffee, guiding each other through the process to get it to their tastes because being apart for so long took a toll on these details. They got dressed in fluffy robes and cuddled on the large, comfortable bed, sharing the breakfast Yuuri received from his team while talking about their agendas and secretly plotting for when they could meet again.

But the sun was sidling up the mountains too fast, bearing a reminder that what had happened between them should stay veiled, and no matter how hard they tried to make time drag on so they could have a bit more of what they missed so much, their reality was unforgiving. Victor had to get dressed, aligned as best as he could to return to his hotel room where he should have been the whole night.

Yuuri helped him through in muted silence that spoke volumes, and Victor would hum a familiar tune from time to time as his lover helped him get back in that role that they’d stripped and seemed too tight to fit back in. He brushed his hands on Victor’s skin deliberately, each gesture filled with tenderness that Yuuri lacked words to express, willing to commit the sensation to memory, to let across how much Victor meant to him.

He slid Victor’s shirt on, placing soft kisses on his shoulders as he did so, timidly glancing at Victor’s reflection in the mirror while he buttoned his shirt agonizingly slow. Victor’s eyes smiled to that, appreciating the loving gestures as his skin shivered under Yuuri’s lips. It was solemn. Yuuri was hit with that feeling of solitude and isolation as he thought back on the other times he’d watched Victor leave.

It was as if little by little Victor was less _his_ , each piece of his clothing reminding him of the undeniable distance that had to be put between them, of who they had to be and what the world outside that door expected from them—though in his heart he knew it remained the same. He could see in Victor’s eyes the sadness that settled in, somber and austere, even though he tried to joke it off with small talk and smooth flattery that made Yuuri blush—thoughts of a life together, of a routine that didn’t belong to them, yet they yearned for so dearly.

And it broke his heart when Victor was ready, dressed in the magnificent suit he'd picked up to come  _see_ him, standing by the door, gorgeous just like when he’d arrived, only the slightest disheveled, still looking like a man who was the physical and emotional embodiment of perfection in his eyes.

Victor hesitated, procrastinating his departure as much as he could because every second next to Yuuri was precious, blue eyes and burning with desire to stay, _locked_ on Yuuri, unwavering and endless, bearing sadness so great that made his smile look lifeless.

“So…”

Yuuri couldn’t bear it. He stood in front of Victor, smoothing his suit for the hundredth time to make sure he looked aligned, formal and assured, trying not to think too hard about his anxieties, trying to busy himself from those thoughts. Standing on the tip of his toes, Yuuri leaned for one last kiss—a gentle brush of lips, soft, warm, slow, so they could remember it when they’re apart—and Victor gave him those eyes that _begged_ , a look that reminded him of his words last night. The extents that Victor was ready to reach, willing to sacrifice for _this_.

“Stay,” he heard himself plea, muffled on Victor’s shoulder, and Victor wrapped his arms around him, kissing the top of his head with a heavy sigh.

He knew he was making it difficult on him—one moment pushing Victor away, the other asking for his everything, to give up on his entire career for some foolish affair that was never supposed to happen, and Yuuri didn’t want to believe he was that selfish. He couldn’t allow it to happen. He had to be strong.

But maybe that way Victor would grow tired of his indecision, his hot-and-cold attitude that would leave no room for thoughts other than he wasn’t right for Victor, and as result, he’d leave him for good and better judgment. It would hurt. And yet, perhaps, it was for their best.

“Have a safe flight back home,” Victor whispered, thoughtful and caring like no other, and Yuuri felt the tears threatening to spill on Victor’s shoulder.

“You too,” his voice was strangled, strained and trembling like Yuuri hated. Victor wouldn’t leave him if he cried—but he didn’t want him to leave. He wanted him to stay. But he couldn’t.

It was the worst, watching Victor walk away, feeling a piece of his soul leave with him every time they had to say goodbye and lose each other for life that way. Victor pulled back to look at him, concern written all over his features, lips parted and brow furrowed as if he was silently begging Yuuri to say something so he could stay.

“Yuuri…”

Victor caressed his name one last time until they met in secret again. He sounded like he was about to ask him something, but before Victor could say anything Yuuri pulled back from their embrace, trying to be tough, trying to be strong for them.

He couldn’t bear Victor’s gaze, but those glacial-blue eyes that could read every sentiment that stirred deep inside of him were impossible to ignore. It felt as if turning his face away, maybe leaving the room altogether would make it easier to let him go.

Yuuri _couldn’t_ make himself _not_ look at him, not when Victor gave him a soft smile that nonverbally pleaded him to be strong, appreciating him for all he was, and his heart ached with the knowledge that this was just as difficult for him.

Yuuri couldn’t resist jumping into his arms one last time, pulling at the lapels of his coat and bringing him in for a goodbye kiss, and it was like Victor had been expecting him to do so all along—wrapping his arms around his waist, pulling him closer, his kiss gentle but urgent speaking of a desire to stay that was too much to translate into words. His body was hot, ember burned under his skin where his body met Victor’s, and he realized he forgot to inhale once their lips were parted.

Through his fair, long lashes, Yuuri watched Victor’s eyes gaze at his lips as if he was bidding them goodbye, and when their eyes met again his heart was tight in his chest.

“You’re going to get late,” he whispered, words empty of meaning when all he wanted was for him to _stay_.

Victor rested his forehead on Yuuri’s, taking a deep breath as he fluttered his eyes shut, and Yuuri wished he could read his thoughts.

“I know.”

 _I don’t want you to go_.

Following his example, Yuuri closed his eyes, focusing on Victor’s warm, comforting presence surrounding him. The more time he spent in his arms, the weaker he grew—Victor _needed_ to go. The world outside needed him back, but Yuuri was stubborn and was willing to fight everyone who stood in their way.

But he had to be strong. And sometimes, being strong meant going against his strongest desire.

Stepping back, Yuuri put himself away from the warm circle of Victor’s embrace—his hand lingering on the back of Victor’s neck one second too long, one lifetime too little.

“Goodbye, Victor.”

Yuuri knocked on the door, a silent code to inform his men that Victor was leaving, and they exchanged a silent, meaningful gaze that spoke volumes about their love—wordless promises of a better future and heartfelt confessions of what they meant for each other—and his heart crushed as Victor sniffed softly, trying to hold back the tears that began to fill his eyes. Yuuri barely noticed when Victor’s hand moved up from his side, fingers curled with his palm upwards, reaching for Yuuri’s face to touch him.

Outside, Yuuri’s men exchanged orders, possibly sending information to Victor’s men, and that fuss was what broke the moment, making Victor realize what he’d been about to do and dropping his hand before it went any further. Nobody was supposed to see this. They couldn’t afford to risk it. Victor stood where he was, physically close to him as that excruciating distance between the two made itself real again, reminding Yuuri that no matter how hard he wanted Victor _forever_ in his life he would never have him for more than a night.  

“Goodbye, my Yuuri.”

The door was opened. Victor blinked his eyes shut for a second, letting out a soundless sigh and walking out of the room. Yuuri was left bereft, watching his silent walk down the hallway to the elevator, sided by his men. The door was closed just as Victor was about to step into the elevator to return to his hotel where he should have been with his team all night.

Silence was deafening. The room felt too empty, too cold, devoid of comfort, foreign. He felt _hollow_ , as if his soul had been stripped away from him and he was left an empty vessel, aching for the comfort only Victor brought to him. He knew if he turned away all he would find would be reminders of their night together—the mess of sheets where they’d slept on, Victor’s robe that smelled just like him, the silly shapes they’d drawn together where the vapor clung to the mirror. Mementos of a fantasy that wasn’t meant to be. Yuuri collapsed, allowing his tears to flow freely. His solitude came back with a crushing weight that made it impossible to endure, not after having again experienced what love meant only to have it viciously ripped from him.

The thought of hurting Victor, of leading him on and playing pretend about something that could never belong to them ruined him. Yuuri loved Victor’s stubbornness as much as he hated it. He’d tried to make Victor understand in other occasions how impossibly foolish this was, how it had more chances of backfiring tremendously and blasting on their faces with a public scandal that would make their lives so much harder, how it _hurt_ them in so many ways. He was aware that Victor fully understood it as well, but the man was tone deaf to the subject, hopelessly optimistic and with so much love to give. _We’ll find a way_ , he’d promise, and although it did make Yuuri’s heart warm and content it also filled him with distress. They couldn’t hope to be so lucky, not while they were the people they were.

He wanted to believe everything would be fine like Victor did. Yuuri envied his hopefulness.

So many times he had hoped Victor would eventually grow tired of all this—of distance, of suffering, of _him—_ and decide to move on, to break up and leave him, to find someone else to give his heart to, to live the life he deserved to live, happy and loved like average people they would never be. Except the thought of Victor being with someone else made him feel sick. It was ridiculous. Yuuri had no claim to the man beyond something possessive and greedy, which only made him feel worse. He needed to cut Victor loose before things went awry.

He couldn’t do it anymore. He was sick with anxiety. This was fated to an ill end.

He needed Victor to understand. He couldn’t possibly be greedy enough to put their careers to ruin. If Victor didn’t have the guts to end this, Yuuri would have to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this serves now as prologue! When we get to it I'll let you know where this fits.  
> I've written an alternate smut scene, you can find it [here](http://archiveofourown.org/works/11962452)!
> 
> You can follow me on [tumblr (vityanikiforova)](http://vityanikiforova.tumblr.com) and [twitter (cutesudon)](http://twitter.com/cutesudon) for more updates on this AU!


	2. Overture

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 1\. the first part of an event; the beginning of something; an introductory performance, action, or event preceding and preparing for the principal or a more important matter.
> 
> The job of his dreams, a supportive family and a lovely dog – Victor Nikiforov had all these things, and yet his life still felt incomplete.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So... I've made the decision of slowly... _slowly_ incorporate the one-shots to this work. Mostly because I was planning on doing it in the future already, but also because there were more subscriptions to this one-shot than the series lmao
> 
> REGARDLESS! There'll be at least one more one-shot in the series and then all updates will be added to this WIP. Gods help me. 
> 
> This is the most introductory thing I've ever written and so I've struggled to find the right tone for it. I'm having a lot of fun doing all the research for this AU <3 
> 
> Big Thanks Time™:  
> to [ditto](http://archiveofourown.org/users/nakanowardcat/pseuds/nakanowardcat), [joey ](https://archiveofourown.org/users/HQ_Wingster/profile) and [yukiyuna](http://yukiyuna.tumblr.com) for beta-reading so many versions of... this.  
> to [am](http://archiveofourown.org/users/wingchestr) for helping me out with the article and interview,  
> and to everyone who recommended/commented this work! Your support is greatly appreciated! <3

  _The Examiner News_

Politics

**Nikiforov Wins Election as Russian President**

by Yulia P.| March 20

 

MOSCOW - The candidate from the independent party, Victor Nikiforov, won the Russian presidency last Sunday in a landslide victory, defeating the opposing party’s candidate with over sixty percent of the votes, on a platform fighting for middle-class interests and young voters.

With the Kremlin towers gleaming majestically behind him, Nikiforov strode onto a stage Sunday night to declare his victory, delivering a powerful speech about union and change.

“The path before us is long and challenging, but it fills me with pride to say that we have never had so much hope in our future before,” Nikiforov said to his audience, gathered attentively at the Kremlin Square. “Together, and only so, we will achieve our goals. Together, we can work hard and create the future we want.”

Victor Nikiforov will come into office after a campaign in which he laid out a number of clear promises: to improve infrastructure and living standards, to combat corruption and to expand health care. To achieve those goals, he’ll need to gather political support for the programs he proposes, suggesting that he might invite political rivals into his government.

 

**Remarkable Charisma**

Known for his stellar rhetoric and debating skills, Victor Alexeyevich Nikiforov, 30, former minister of Labor and Social Security, captivated the public after his polemic declaration at the State Duma, in which he called attention to the extravagant spendings of members of the government.

In a move that caused political turmoil, Nikiforov revealed receipts from the Parliament’s budget that demonstrated both the extent and the impact of their extravaganza. In response to this news, the suddenly assertive citizenry rattled the Kremlin, corroborating Nikiforov’s statement and demanding the government to answer to those charges.

This unsettled a lot of politicians, but consequentially the presidents of the Federal Assembly agreed to start an anti-corruption investigation scheme that led to the arrest of four politicians, as well as pressing charges on another sixty-five members of the government over the inadequate spending of public money.

The growing middle class was intrigued as they found out about Nikiforov’s stance against this perceived government wastage. The number of young people registering to vote underwent a significant rise.

“These elections are different from all the others. You can see that people are taking it more seriously,” said Alexandra P., a 32-year-old elementary school teacher.

“I voted for Nikiforov because I wanted to give him a chance,” said Vladimir S., a 21-year-old journalism student. “He’s proven he can do anything, and I believe that he will.”

It is true that Victor Nikiforov’s message seems to resonate particularly strongly with the young. His policy is a nationwide growth in the economy while addressing many of the thorny difficulties that have plagued Russia since the fall of the Soviet Union, in particular corruption in politics, the vertical power and the predominance of oligarchs in specific branches of the economy.

Thanks to his skill and charisma, Nikiforov appears to always manage to have things go his way. Following the scandal at the State Duma with his unprecedented victory at the polls, Nikiforov appears to be the man of the hour, orchestrating the Russian government to operate in the way he desires, while managing to have an impressively positive response from the public to both his domestic and international policies.

 

**What the World Expects**

The West openly supports Nikiforov’s rise to power in the hope that he will pursue a more Western style of democracy, bringing Russia closer to Europe and America, and furthermore keeping ultranationalist candidates out of power.

One of his main goals is to bring young Russians back to Russia. During the past decade, the number of young, middle-class Russians who have moved to European capitals such as Berlin, Paris and London, has increased to over 60%. There are many different reasons behind this exodus: uncertainty about the country’s future, economic instability, as well as the general political climate that has left the country subject to near-authoritarian governments in recent history. To counter this, Nikiforov plans to invest more in the building and maintaining of international relations with other countries, seeking to “make Russia a more reliable, more peaceful ally”.

For many, this election’s result marks an exciting change in the course of Russia’s leadership. While doubts remain over his experience and how far Nikiforov will be able to achieve his goals, the eyes of the world are certainly turned towards a changing Kremlin.

“I voted to reelect the former president because I prefer to have someone with more experience in charge,” Anton V., a 45-year-old businessman, declared as the result was announced. “But I hope he will do a good job. Russia is in his hands now.”

** More headlines in World News… **

 

* * *

 

 

Of all crazy things Victor Nikiforov had done in his life so far —driving on a highway without a license at the tender age of 16, or going on a date with a complete stranger in a foreign city, and attempting to drink one liter of vodka straight from a funnel—becoming president was the craziest thing on the list.

It was something he’d wanted for a long time, of course, and something he’d worked hard on. He was a man that lived for his work, and gave all of his dedication to be the best at the things he thought to be worth it. Those had been rough times on Victor—leaving him barely any time for himself, but it’d all been worth it. It gave his life a purpose, making him feel useful as he involved himself with something arduous that he loved so dearly—the chaos anyone involved in politics was thrown into; but it had all paid off in the end.

His mother would have rathered him to follow the path of the arts, or sports, but he couldn’t help the fact that politics were much more gentle on his joints than ballet had ever been. Lilia had told him at the dinner after the results of the election that he would “get used to it”, as what he’d assumed to be something encouraging in regards to his presidential path, the attention he would receive and responsibilities involving his figure—as there had never had been a president so young in office in Russia’s history before—but _maybe_ she might have been talking about the fancy dishes they were served. And if that were the case, Victor doubted he’d ever get used to it.

On the morning of the 7th of May he had the first taste of how it was going to be—or, at least, all the pomp and circumstance that surrounded the president in important events. Victor had watched the broadcast once or twice before this occasion, so he knew what to expect—but he’d been guided through the steps regardless since he was expected to be nothing but _perfect_.

He understood the importance of the flawless execution of his inauguration ceremony, but having to be mindful of _so many_ things ended up confusing him more than helping in any way. Victor had little to no sleep on the previous night, tossing on the bed unable to think of anything that wasn’t the change his life was about to go through, or how many steps it took to get to the rostrum to deliver his speech.

A part of him just wanted to be over with it, powering through ceremony, lunch, and press conference so he could finally focus on his work and be away from camera lenses for a moment; but he also knew the importance of treasuring such an important moment as that.

Thankfully, the team did an excellent job at getting Victor to look radiant and well rested despite his insufficient rest, dressed to the nines in an elegant navy suit and purple tie, his silver hair swept to the side with so much hairspray he was sure that if he put his head out of the car’s window that he’d remain flawless for the ceremony. He wouldn’t do that, though. His team’s purpose was to take care of everything so Victor didn’t have to worry about minor details, giving him all the assistance he could possibly need before departing to the Kremlin.

So that left him with nothing to deal with but that familiar anticipation that followed these life-changing occasions, and he seemed to be doing a poor job of controlling it as the make-up artist kept making comments on his long sighs.

The weather couldn’t be more suitable for the broadcast on the TV, he heard someone mention—blue skies, pleasant temperatures, flowers in bloom at the Kremlin’s gardens. As they were doing the last touches on his makeup, checking on his suit for what felt like the hundredth time, making sure Victor looked impeccable and prince-like, they were informed that the ceremony had just started.

A wave of anticipation hit him, running down his chest like a drop of cold water, making him shudder in his seat as he tried to keep his anxiety under control. There was nothing else to be done except wait, letting the ceremony run its course until he was signaled to leave, so Victor sat on the fancy couch looking at the people rustling around and sending updates to the Kremlin team.

“Drink up,” a woman said, plucking him out of his thoughts. In her hand, a glass of iced water filled to the brim looked like the best suggestion he’d heard all day so far.

Victor hadn’t realized how dry his throat was as he held the cold glass in his hand, wetting his lips as his hair stylist fought a stubborn strand with ungodly amounts of hairspray—which was utterly unnecessary, Victor pondered, but chose to remain quiet. He took a confident sip from his glass, reveling at the sensation of cold water on his lips when noticed there was something odd about it.

“Did you put vodka in this?” Victor asked as he felt the familiar aftertaste in his mouth. It was light, barely noticeable, but definitely there.

The woman took a moment to reply, hearing some instructions in her receiver and nodding to no one in particular. As she caught Victor’s eyes on her she just waved her hand dismissively,

“Just a shot,” she said, ignoring his incredulous expression. “You need to relax and that should do it. Now finish your drink and prepare to board the car, you’re leaving in ten.”

Victor did not argue, taking a sip of his baptized drink as he looked at the assistant with wary eyes. He didn’t want to make a fool of himself and stumble down the halls to the rostrum but chose to believe them anyway. As he drank the whole glass, Victor felt undeniably more at ease as he prepared to head to the ceremony, going through the last retouches before going downstairs to take the car.

With his anticipation out of the way, it was all on his hands to charm the audience, smiling pleasantly at the cameras that followed his every step as the focus of the ceremony turned to him.

It was undeniably exciting, if a little embarrassing as he became progressively aware that now all eyes in Russia were on him when he received the instructions to proceed to the ceremony place, every camera now trained on him. He wasn’t at all unfamiliar with getting attention and being under the spotlight before – but this felt _different_ , a solemn air of importance surrounding him _._ Instead of allowing those worrying thoughts to take over, Victor took it as an opportunity to enjoy the quiet endorsement that followed with each camera pointed at him, the validation of all of his efforts to get where he was now, making way with his procession to the Grand Kremlin Palace to be declared President.

He found that first step to be quite easy to follow through. Save for the couple of cameras that were shooting from different angles and the fact that Victor felt compelled to smile as a knee-jerk reaction to them, there was nothing out of the ordinary with it. It was methodical, simple to follow, and there weren’t people looking at him expectantly or cheering to make him feel uncomfortable. It was just the shooting team, the chauffeur, him, and no one else.

What got him nervous was all the pageantry and extravaganza that was waiting for him at the Grand Kremlin Palace, not-so-subtle reminders of the importance of his achievement, though in the interior of that car it was almost possible to ignore what was happening. It was as exciting as it was terrifying, the novelty almost feeling too intimidating at some points. That was the price that came with being president—and he’d wanted this, chosen to follow this path.

Victor busied himself by watching the view around him, brushing those thoughts away with the casual distraction. He’d had little sleep the night before, Victor reasoned to himself, it was only natural he felt burned-out and moody having been up since the early hours. Letting those kinds of thoughts get to him would only bring him down, and he knew better than allow himself to fall into that mindset before an important event such as this.

The sight of Saint Basil’s Cathedral in all its famous colors and shapes was a familiar, almost relaxing sight as they entered the Red Square, standing out beautifully in contrast to that azure sky. They drove into the Kremlin through the Spassky Gate, the pointers on the clock so impossibly close to midday it made him wonder if they could make it in time.

He fumbled in his pocket in search of his speech’s bullet points and skimmed his eyes through them one last time as the car approached the Palace’s doors, trying to ignore the sudden adrenaline rush that washed over his body. Victor wanted to laugh himself silly, run a marathon around the Red Square and scream his lungs out, but that feeling died out as the chauffeur pulled the car to a stop, opened the door for him, and Victor was forced to fit into his role as he headed inside.

Men stood guard left and right in the long corridor that led to the red-carpeted stairs bearing muskets and swords, saluting him with solemn seriousness. As if instinctively flipping a switch, he fully committed to his presidential role, doing as he’d been meticulously instructed to, flashing a handsome smile at the cameras as he made way to the stairs.

He was Victor Nikiforov the President of the Russian Federation, and he showed it in his confident stride. He was flawless, charming, brilliant and secure, stunning everyone who he passed by flaunting the purest, effortless elegance with every step.

Cameras were pointed at him from every direction, the soft shutter of them registering the moment to eternity, barely noticeable sounds over the pompous march that was being played as he made his way up the stairs. Victor had rehearsed his smile many times in front of a mirror, trying to find the best way to let across courtesy without seeming too stiff, but he couldn’t help feeling nervous as he nodded and smiled at the cameras pointed at him.

Victor suddenly understood why the previous president was always so serious during the ceremony. He couldn’t hope to hold that smile for much longer when his cheeks started to hurt as he crossed the golden doors of the Georgievsky Hall, filled with unknown faces at first that smiled back at him, applauding as he followed the red carpet in a concealed hurry.

The interiors of the Grand Kremlin Palace were something otherworldly; gilded details everywhere the eyes could see, with impossibly intricate patterns one could lose themselves in for days, statues and paintings that demanded appreciation for long minutes and enraptured whoever took some time to gaze upon them. He’d seen pictures of it before, and Victor decided the cameras failed to make justice to it as he strode down the red carpet, trying to fight back the amazement that insisted on surfacing on his face.

The Georgievsky Hall was remarkably stunning—white, gold and yellow, undeniably lavish, rich in details that Victor lacked knowledge of words in every language he spoke to even begin to explain its exquisite appearance, admirable if not a bit bewildering. The famous golden chandeliers adorned vaulted ceilings with a myriad of diamonds, sparkling beauty that almost felt like too much to bear.

It required quite an effort to not stare at it in awe, and yet with all that beauty people only had eyes for him. Victor was sure he was blushing at all that, feeling immensely pleased and a bit embarrassed by all the flattery.

And while Victor wanted to enjoy every moment of this stride to the rostrum, everything was turning into a blur in his mind. Although he did not falter on his grace for one moment, Victor found himself all too soon nearing the doors where the ceremony would take place, a voice on the speakers announcing his name and bringing him back to reality.

More applause ensued as the golden doors to the Alexandr Hall were opened for him, revealing the stage at the end of the hall as well as some of the familiar and famous faces he expected to see there.

The Alexandr Hall, where the ceremony took place, was ostentatiously rich, extravagant in every detail that spoke of a glorious, luxurious past that was not to be forgotten just like the rest of the Grand Kremlin Palace. It was one of the most famous rooms, and it was easy to understand why—bathed in gold from ceiling to floor, and pink marble glittering with gold in the walls and intricate patterns in each column; the room was _lavish_.

And it was where all the important people were, privileged to witness the ceremony as close as possible. Previous leaders of state, politicians, diplomats… but also important people who meant the world to him, friends and family smiling proudly back at him, and for the first time on the day Victor found himself smiling in earnest. They all applauded him warmly as he mounted the last few steps up the platform and shook hands with the president, awaiting the start of the ceremony.

The voice on the speakers called the president to step forward to deliver his last speech, addressing the years he’d been in power and concluding how it had been for him. Victor barely heard a word of it as he stood, eyes lost in the expectant crowd in front of him, feeling as if his brain was floating above his body, his mind aware of what was going on but having a hard time to process everything.

“… I wish him success in his office and in his work for our country and people,” the president concluded, his speech short and precise, returning to stand next to Victor with a calm expression.

Victor knew that the ceremony was supposed to be fast, the ceremonial part lasting less than an hour from start to finish, but it still felt like it was speeding past. His heart raced as the president of the Constitutional Court stood close to the microphone to address the public, waiting for the applause to cease to call him to the rostrum.

“Victor Alexeyevich, I ask you to swear the oath.”

Immediately, Victor felt the weight of all those eyes on him even before he took the first step to stand by the rostrum, the expectation feeling almost like some physical weight on his shoulders now. He froze in his tracks for what felt like an eternity, but some force pushed him to keep moving, all the applause falling deaf on his ears.

It was one of those moments where everything was overwhelming, senses sharper and attention so scattered that it made seconds feel like an eternity. Victor was all too aware of his heartbeat, the intense light directed at him and the warmth of the spotlights on his skin, his tongue too heavy to fit comfortably in his mouth as he stood by the rostrum. What ground him in the moment was the smooth leather-clad Constitution under his right hand, cold and soothing, and all the years of refining his public speaking skills to thank as he began declaiming the presidential oath with a firm, clear voice that didn’t seem to be coming from him.

“I vow, as I fulfill the duties of President of the Russian Federation, to respect and safeguard the rights and freedoms of our citizens, to observe and defend the Constitution of the Russian Federation, to protect the sovereignty and independence, security and integrity of the State, to faithfully serve the people.”

To his surprise, his voice did not quiver—it was firm, clear and calm, and Victor felt surprisingly serene once it was done, his legs trembling under his weight as he stepped back from the microphone. It was so easy that for a moment Victor almost doubted he had said those words aloud, glancing at the president for some response, earning a curt nod as his reply. A sense of accomplishment washed over him, making a smile flourish on his face unconsciously.

“Victor Alexeyevich Nikiforov, by the power invested in me by the Constitutional Court I declare you President of the Russian Federation.”

Whatever followed next—the execution of Russia’s national anthem, a voice in his head reminded him—it went on a blur. Victor’s mind whirled around the last declaration as if he couldn’t quite believe it, and his eyes surveyed the hall in search of his family as if to confirm what had really happened. And undoubtedly, as a proof that this was all real, Victor found himself smiling fondly at the sight of his father wiping tears away with the back of his hand, trying to keep it together though his emotions clearly had the upper hand on that matter. His mother, on the other hand, beamed in excitement, looking so proud she could burst with a hand on his brother’s shoulder. Yuri was trying his _best_ to look uninterested as he held Victor’s gaze, but his eyes couldn’t lie even though his lips were pressed tight in a bored expression that didn’t reach his eyes.

Victor felt dizzy, legs trembling like a newborn calf’s, undeniably blissful but also petrified as he realized his speech was happening next, making it impossible to enjoy the small break between oath and speech. He knew the chances of committing a serious mistake were small—he was used to addressing to the public, being under spotlights and in front of so many cameras—but he couldn’t help worrying about that knot in his throat provided by the natural anxiety caused by the circumstances. It was a matter of practice to master the art of talking to an audience with ease, desensitizing oneself to the expectant eyes that were trained on him in the crowd.

It was about ignoring everything in the room, including himself.

_President of the Russian Federation Victor Alexeyevich Nikiforov._

_Fuck_ , Victor thought, _that’s me_. It was the cue for his speech, and on the spur of the moment, Victor was clueless as to how he’d brought himself up to the rostrum again despite his body feeling like jelly. And that was when Victor noticed he was already on autopilot, fishing a piece of paper in his suit’s inner pocket, smoothing the paper in front of him without even sparing a glance at it.

Victor drew in a deep breath that helped clear his mind, focusing on the feeling of the air filling his lungs, emptying his mind of any possible distractions as he released his breath. His eyes focused on a vague point in the crowd, looking at it without really seeing it.

“Dear citizens of Russia, friends. As I take the office as President of the Russian Federation, I realize the full extent of my responsibility before our homeland. The President’s obligations to look after the state and faithfully serve the people are sacred to me now and forever.

“I stand here today grateful, humbled by all those who placed such great trust by electing me to the office of head of the Russian state. I will do my best to justify the trust of millions of our citizens; it is my duty to serve our country and our people, whose support encourages and inspires me to face the most difficult tasks.”

He didn’t dare peek around just yet, although Victor was curious to survey the reactions. Much like a frozen lake, Victor only counted on a thin veneer of self-control at that moment, but he found comfort in the silence of the hall as he knew that meant he’d gotten their attention. Having a good start was crucial and even though these speeches were always boring, now that he’d gone through his introduction Victor felt more at ease.

It was always like that with him, the initial uneasiness that was quick to fall into confidence and boldness in his speeches. The screens showed a real-time transmission of his speech, and while that was awfully distracting it also served him as a subtle reminder that he was _doing it_.

“We have a lot of progress to do, as we are now entering a new stage in our history. Economic stability and a steady foundation are necessary conditions that will not suffice alone to guarantee our people the quality of life they deserve, if we don’t make the effort to distribute profits fairly.” Victor paused, eyes quickly surveying the room and offering a short pause to allow his words to take effect. “We need to think of the future we want for Russia. The challenges we will face are many, real and serious, and while it might take a long span of time to meet them, they will be met.

“The future of our nation and the goals we want to achieve as a collective depends on us. Starting today we must begin our work to make the changes our country needs so the generations to come can have a better future, and for that our actions must be bold and swift. We shall emphasize the meaning of democracy and what it represents, involving all our people more actively in the political agenda.”

He was close to the end. Other than his voice and the soft sound of shutters casually flashing, the hall was silent, all those present focused on his words. It brought him relief to think his speech was flowing naturally, words coming to mind in an organized stream of thoughts that addressed the points he had planned to bring into his speech.

It was funny to acknowledge that he almost wanted this to go on for longer now, not wanting to step down from the rostrum but to just keep going, keep talking about what he loved to do, almost willing to hold a press conference right then and there as he started feeling more comfortable under the spotlight. Maybe Lilia was right. He was getting used to it, bit by bit, although Victor doubted that routine would lose its meaning one day.

“Together, we shall all work to make our country prosper, and we will be successful as long as we rely on our resolve to create a better future for ourselves and the generations to come. I believe our common values and determination to transform our country are the foundation for a successful future to be built by all of us.”

A wave of applause followed as Victor nodded in a guise of thanking for the audience’s attention, and he stepped down the rostrum to yet another pompous tune. If he’d been shaking before, then Victor found himself close to collapsing, legs trembling in adrenaline as he shook hands with the representatives on stage.

He had expected to step down of the rostrum feeling somewhat different—changed, maybe, with a sense of duty much stronger than the one he’d stepped in with—and while he felt more at ease than before, it was almost… natural. His smile was much more relaxed now, the cameras eager to register it as he shook hands with the former president before tracing his path back to the exit.

Revisiting that sea of nameless faces that cheered and waved with renewed vigor now felt much less intimidating, and perhaps it was because Victor was following through the remaining formalities with an empty mind, just barely aware of what was expected of him. He waved enthusiastically back, murmuring _thank you_ under his breath for good measure as he beelined the red carpet.

Long before Victor had been elected president, several journalists had given him the title of “most charismatic candidate”. Some would justify and say that he was charming, blessed with a calming composure that lulled people to feel at ease. Others simply declared that his striking charisma was thanks to his good looks and dashing smiles, which made him impossible to forget.

It didn’t matter to Victor personally, but he believed it to be true once he spotted hands peeking out from the audience, offering to shake his when he crossed the halls he’d been through. At first, Victor barely noticed those patient gestures amidst a sea of waving and clapping, limiting to wave back at them politely.

However, it was impossible to ignore them once he spotted one within reaching distance, stretched on the corridor right in front of him, and without a second thought Victor reached for the hand with a firm grip and a bounce in his shake, soon dropping the hand before turning to follow his way.

It was a thoughtless reaction, an impulse to grab the stretched hand that was right there, waiting, nameless and unimportant but in the middle of his way. A simple realization dawned on Victor when he saw other ten hands immediately reaching for him, trapping him in an awkward meet-and-greet situation, almost.

And fair enough, it was his choice to commit to it and shake the hands in front of him. But it was getting out of control as Victor realized he lost count of how many hands he’d shaken without making a progress on his walk to the Cathedral Square. The exit door was _right there_ , almost mocking him on his decisions as Victor kept on shaking hands, internally panicking at the situation. A familiar voice reigned in the back of Victor’s mind, and it nostalgically reminded him of all the lectures Yakov used to hurl into his left ear for being careless.

Just as Victor began wondering what he could do to disentangle himself from that embarrassing situation he spotted photographers registering this awkward moment to History.

At least the headlines would amuse him during afternoon tea, he thought.

But for the sake of getting things done, Victor casually disentangled himself from this awkward situation, waving at the crowd with an apologetic smile and stepping away from it before his security team had to intervene. Back on his track, limiting to simply nod and smile as he was doing before as he surged forward and reached for the front door. An entire minute felt like _hours,_ but Victor managed to escape without major issues.

Once he was able to breathe, cheeks burning with the slow realization of how cringe-worthy it all must have looked _,_ Victor laughed. It was a simple, informal politeness that didn’t do any harm, except for maybe delay the ceremony’s planning a little and, in a worst-case scenario, he’d just become a meme on the internet. The guards watching him on his way to the square gave away no reaction on what they thought about it, and Victor found some comfort in their stoic support.

And so he followed with his schedule, hurrying his pace just a bit to make up for the time lost. He met the former president at the door, waiting for him to greet the soldiers and officers down the square with a wary smile. He didn’t ask any questions, but something told Victor he _knew_ , and Victor wondered how long it would take him to be able to deal with those formalities without thinking twice about what he was doing like the former president.

Victor could only hope to achieve that level of composure one day, and the placid smile the former president offered him quietly assured Victor that he would.

Reviewing the parade was the part of the ceremony he was least excited about. The excitement of having delivered a good speech had worn off with the awkward shaking-hands moments from before, and Victor found himself wishing to get this over with. Despite it being a nice day—pleasant, with a few clouds forming in the skies now – he wanted to go home. He missed Makkachin. His feet hurt from standing and his cheeks were sore from smiling at the cameras at this point.

The sight of the Commander of the Presidential Regiment marching down the square to meet him brought Victor back to reality, reminding him of what he was expected to do. And just like before, he heard Yakov’s voice in his mind, this time not yelling this time but reminding him the importance of a good recovery after a slight faux pas.

He immediately ignored the soreness on his feet in favor to stand straight, nodding sharply at the Commander and easing himself back.

“Comrade President of the Russian Federation,” the man greeted, stern and clear, squinting his eyes at Victor. “The ranks are assembled in honor of the President’s inauguration. I’m the Commander of the Presidential Regiment, Colonel Petrov.”

To be speaking so clearly this far and without a microphone, the man had an impressive voice. Victor stepped forward, leaning a bit to speak on the microphone.

“Greetings, comrades.”

The servicemen roared a greeting back, and Victor would be lying if he didn’t admit it was a bit intimidating to hear it. He was never fond of military displays of any sort and, funnily enough, in less than 48 hours he’d be participating in yet another ceremony that involved guns, tanks and exacerbated patriotism, which enough pageantry to last for a year.

Oh, well.

Victor took a deep breath and repeated the customary greeting. The servicemen cheered again, and Victor was thankful to step back from the rostrum while the Commander barked orders for the ceremonial march. His duties for the ceremony were over now, making it was easy to relax and let his thoughts wander as he watched the parade.

It was just like watching the Victory Day march, except, the uniforms were fancier and they counted on a better choice of colors. They marched with beautiful precision, shoulder to shoulder and turning their heads to look at the president as they passed by the indicative flags. The little voice in the back of his head noted that Yuri would point that as the highlight of his whole ceremony.

And he had to admit, to his surprise, that maybe this was indeed the most interesting part, even though the former president didn’t seem impressed at all. Victor watched the servicemen marching in amazement, tapping his foot to the sound of the catchy tune.

“Did you know…” The former president murmured, tilting his head slightly so Victor could hear him better as the cavalry passed in front of them. “You can mount on one of those if you want,” he nodded at the horses discreetly, a self-satisfied smile playing on his lips as he resumed his original position.

Victor’s eyes followed the former president’s gaze with curiosity, slightly knitting his eyebrows together as he tried to decide whether he was telling the truth or not.

“You mean ride a _horse_? Around the Kremlin?”

The man nodded with a sneer, making a visible effort not to laugh.

“Have you done it?” Victor couldn’t resist asking.

“Sadly, no,” he confessed. “But I’d love to see a president actually do it.”

Victor bit back a smile, nodding at the officers politely.

“Well. Maybe you will,” he replied with a teeny smirk he couldn’t hold back.

 

* * *

 

 After going through his busy first day, Victor found himself at one of the most renowned restaurants in Russia, enjoying the privileged view the glorious glass dome offered to that side of the city. The restaurant had been reserved for him and his guests especially, for the objective of enjoying the night in the presence of his dear ones.

This was an extravagant place, granted—nothing less to be expected of one of the gastronomic attractions of the Russian capital. Each of the restaurant's rooms was decorated with a mood in mind—the top floor, where Victor had escaped to, was for contemplation of the city’s formidable view, the large and empty seats positioned in parallels for conversations and stargazing. The rooms on the lower floor, where his guests were having appetizers and champagne, were much cozier, with round tables and tall, comfortable suede chairs, colorful and modern in stark contrast to the darker, moodier ambiance around the bar.

That wasn’t exactly the type of place Victor would normally go for a celebration, but he knew well enough that he should allow himself to enjoy the occasion. It wasn’t any _regular_ day —it was a once in a lifetime occasion, and Lilia was not one to negotiate in such matters. From experience, Victor knew best not to argue with her.  

Personally, he’d much rather be at home, wearing his fleecy robe, having a homemade _befstroganov_ followed by a glass of white wine and some lackluster documentary on the TV with Makkachin by his side. Boring. Comfortable. But it wasn’t so bad as the champagne they served was delicious, he was surrounded by people whose presence he enjoyed. On top of that, everyone seemed happy to be there, which was inarguably the best result he could have expected —not to mention that managing to fit about forty people into his apartment was an impossible, if not illegal mission.

There, on the top floor, Moscow scintillated at his feet; the impressive, modern shapes and colors of the International Business Center ahead of him were hypnotic, posing tall and splendid, standing out from the other buildings. Victor let his eyes nonchalantly study the well-known skyline, letting his thoughts wander aimlessly. His guests wouldn’t mind his absence for a couple of minutes, he knew, and he needed that moment for himself.

As he gazed at some lost point in the city, watching the chaotic flux of cars coming and going from different directions, Victor finally found the opportunity to appreciate how immensely grateful he was for the turn of events in his life. He had achieved his dream, the future held its doors open for him to do what he loved to do the most, and he had a wonderful group of people on his side to make those dreams happen.

And yet something annoyed him, something he couldn’t quite put his finger on. The feeling of accomplishment after surviving his first day as president was unquestionable, though there was a tiredness that ached deep in his bones, combined to a sense of guilt because he felt he wasn’t as excited as he should be _._ His most ambitious dream had just come true and the entire world seemed to be excited for him, but Victor couldn’t _feel_ it.

Victor understood how _draining_ it was even before he decided to run for president, but he didn’t quite expect feeling _lost_ of all things now that he’d gotten where he wanted to be. He couldn’t figure out why, and he felt a worry nagging at the corners of his mind. Perhaps it was because this was his first day, he reasoned —anyone would be intimidated by an agenda filled with events that extended for months, but it worried him that of all things Victor was worried that he might have taken a bigger bite than he should. That was nonsense, of course—if anything, a busy agenda was a good thing. It meant working hard, keeping his thoughts focused on something positive that would benefit everyone, leaving no room to think of his personal shortcomings.

The sound of a shutter coming from behind him plucked Victor from his whirlwind of thoughts, bringing him forcefully back to reality. Puzzled as to who it could be, he turned to look over his shoulder with a curious look.

“Wow, beautiful,” he heard the red-haired woman mutter, her smile audible from behind the camera, adjusting the lenses and snapping another picture. “So lost in thought with his glass of champagne, eyes lost in the horizon. ‘Everything the sun touches is our kingdom’,” she quoted, making Victor laugh. “Come on, big boy, strike a pose!”

He obliged by offering a smoldering smirk, running his fingers through his silver hair with effortless seduction infused in the gesture. Mila perked up, humming in approval to his pose, flashing the camera a couple of times and murmuring at each new photograph.

“These are good. Too good. Too sensual, Victor,” Mila mimicked his pose with exaggerated gestures and a pout on her lips. “You’re president now, not a model. We need one for your public account, you know. Safe for work? So please, can you try to not eye-fuck the camera in this one?”

He couldn’t help but laugh at her words, taking a sip of his champagne as he stepped closer. “I can. But I need to know what I should _not_ do, and you got me curious with that talk. Can I—”

Mila gasped while he was mid-sentence, the look in her eyes wordlessly begging Victor not to move as she took a step back holding a hand out for him in the universal sign for _stop_ to stress her urgency. Raising the camera like she’d just spotted a rare bird in the wilderness, she took an experimental shot.

“OK. This is good. Keep your pose,” she said, squatting to get a better angle. “Just smile. Think about democracy or something. Oh, sweet, sweet democracy.”

“Why was I not invited to the photoshoot?” A soft-spoken English called from the stairs, and Victor needn’t look to know who it belonged to, a more sincere smile blooming on his lips. As soon as he caught the movement of Mila lowering the camera he spotted Chris dual-wielding flutes of champagne, with a familiar-looking paper bag hooked on his forearm.

“Vitya, this is betrayal,” Chris gasped in mock-offense, sauntering across the room.

“Sorry, _chouchou_ , it was impromptu,” Victor explained with an affected pout. “Can you forgive us?”

Chris did that thing where he studied Victor with heavy-lidded eyes, tilting his chin up just a bit, and the outcome was either a reading or some explicitly sexual joke. This time, Chris just clicked his tongue and took a sip of one of the flutes, and Victor took his deliberate silence was probably for Mila’s sake.

“You know I can’t be mad at you, muffin,” he decided, playful, tilting his head and offering a humorous wink. He then offered his spare flute at Victor. “If you think the man of the hour would escape to brood unnoticed you are dead wrong. Drink up.”

Chris’s offer was received with initial reluctance, a light frown from Victor’s part as he studied the flute of champagne, then his friend’s expression. “I’m not _brooding_. I’m just admiring the view.”

It was a barefaced lie, but Mila didn’t need to know that. Chris, on the other hand, had been friends with Victor long enough to catch him red-handed on his white lies, and the look Chris shot him was enough for Victor to hear the familiar dismissive _ça va_ in his mind. Choosing to be discreet for once in his life, Chris limited himself to motioning at the flute with a raised eyebrow.

“In that case, I say you can never have too much champagne,” he argued with a cheeky smile.

It wasn’t his argument as much as it was the familiar look in Chris’s eyes that made Victor accept the offer to his friend’s contempt, taking a moment to drain his flute first with a quick sip while Mila chanted _chug chug chug_ under her breath, making Chris snort. Satisfied, his friend turned to look at the view, blowing a low whistle as he appreciated it.

“It’s indeed gorgeous here,” he agreed, turning to look at them. “But you know what’s even more gorgeous?”

“Oh, Chris, you flatterer!” Victor crooned, teasing and waving a hand in mock-embarrassment at his friend who stared at him from the corner of his eyes like he'd been expecting that reaction.

“Bitch, you know I wasn’t talking about you,” Chris laughed, pushing Victor playfully. “Though I have to admit you are looking sharp in this suit. I meant what I have here,” he said, gesturing at the bag.

Victor’s eyes were alight with the suggestion, sparkling with curiosity as his friend set the paper bag on one of the tables and gently pulled a black, matte cardboard box with _Giacometti_ engraved in silver letters on the lid, elegant and minimalistic.

“Oh, wow,” Mila hummed in approval, pointing the camera at it. “Can I photograph…?”

Chris shrugged lightly. “Sure. Although I think it looks much better when worn.”

Victor let out a delighted gasp, barely keeping his hands to himself.

“Is this my suit?” He asked as if he couldn’t quite believe it.

And Chris did the old, telltale hand on his hip move that was always followed by a sassy remark that Victor knew since college, bracing himself with a fearless snicker as his friend blinked his eyes long and slow before looking at him.

“No, _mon cher_ , it’s a pink convertible car,” Chris clicked his tongue, playfully hooking a finger under Victor’s chin to get a better view of his rolling eyes, pushing the box across the table in his direction. “Of course it is, silly. Have a look.”

With care, Victor opened up the box, unfolding the white parchment paper on top to work through the layers separating all pieces of his suit. He didn’t know where to start, undoing the parchment paper’s neat arrangement to reveal jacket first, pushing the air out of Victor’s lungs as he let out a delighted gasp that brought a satisfied smirk to Chris’s lips.

“Chris! It’s divine!” He lilted, excited to reveal more of the suit and undoing the other arrangements to gaze at his friend’s full work.

Chris pieced the bespoke suit together on the empty table, smoothing the invisible wrinkles with a gentle hand. His works were flawless, from start to finish, made of the best materials available, daring yet classic design, custom-made with expertise so unquestionable Victor didn’t even worry about second-fitting them. Just like the suit he’d worn for the inauguration ceremony, this one had been a product of many video calls between the two, where Victor explained the occasion to a sketching Chris in the middle of a long, sleepless night, exchanging impressions until they were both satisfied with a basis for Chris to work on.

Victor lacked words to describe how immeasurably thankful he was for the suit laid in front of him, for it looked even better than he’d imagined. A modern-looking suit—black, two buttoned jacket in English cut (Chris’s favorite design to suit Victor’s shape), silk peak lapels and simple, black fitted trousers. The beauty lied in the details—the tie, apparently black, reflected a slightly orange undertone, matching the waistcoat’s delicate black and orange pattern, so subtle and natural that made everything look perfect when pieced together, and it was maddening how it seemed that the restaurant’s lighting did it no justice to show how striking the pieces were.

“As you can see,” Chris said, bending over the table to point at the waistcoat and tie, “I committed to our original idea, but decided to save this nice shade of orange for the details more subtle to the eye… You know, it’s not _out there_ like you wanted, but it’ll definitely show up in the pictures. It’s a… Festive, modern classic suit.”

“Chris, I’m…” Victor trailed off, unable to tear his eyes away from his friend’s work, gazing at it like the suit was his firstborn child. Chris seemed equally delighted as he looked at Victor, then at a staring Mila who didn’t even bother taking pictures anymore, too enthralled by details.

“Should go without saying, but I have the other pieces with me at the hotel. I’ll send them to your apartment first thing in the morning,” Chris said, picking up the pieces carefully put on display on the table to analyze their details with critical eyes, scrutinizing for any flaws. “I wanted to make sure everything looked perfect in the final product, with all the pieces together.”

Victor was _delighted_ , beaming excitedly as Chris tried his best to look humble while inarguably proud of his work, pleased with the reactions he’d gotten from his little crowd and probably excited to know how the world would react to it in two days. With a soft chuckle, Victor pulled him in for a tight hug.

“It’s gorgeous!” Victor laughed, squeezing Chris in his arms, the praise coloring his friend’s cheeks pink. “What can I say? ‘Thank you’ is just not enough. Keep up the good work and I might as well be your brand-face forever.”

“Oh, my,” Chris gasped, overcome by surprise, gazing at him with heavy-lidded eyes as he grabbed Victor by his wrists. “Are you serious?”

And Victor wouldn’t be himself if he wasn’t a tease, taking the opportunity to toy with his friend just a bit. “Would you like that?” He asked, taking the time to play with Chris’s mind with those words, barely suppressing a giggle as he watched his friend staring at him expectantly.

“Vitya, don’t play with my heart.”

“ _Mon cher_ , I’m not kidding. You know very well I don’t play around with those things…” Victor paused in suspense, suppressing a laugh that insisted on surfacing as he looked at his friend’s expectant face. “I’ll give you my full permission to design my suits however you like. I trust your taste, Chris. And you have my measurements, just think of it,” Victor caressed each word in his whisper. “At every important, international occasion I’ll be wearing your brand. How does that sound?”

Victor knew it was a bold proposition, but the way Chris was looking at him with his lips parted and eyes blown wide, satisfaction written all over his face, told him he might in satisfaction he might as well have made one of Chris’s dreams come true.

“If you say that one more time I’ll bust a nut in my pants,” Chris said, biting back a smile. Victor was unfazed by these sorts of comments through the long years of their friendship, though he always played along.

“I’m serious,” he said with a humored wink. “You always do a great job, Chris, and it would be my pleasure to wear your works. But please, before anything happens, there is a bathroom that way,” he pointed, watching Chris fan himself like a Victorian lady who’d been wooed incessantly as he let go, while Mila stared with wide eyes, unsure if she should laugh or be concerned. She continued taking pictures and seeming to be having a lot of fun with them nevertheless.

“Well, just one more thing before I take my leave, then,” Chris cleared his throat, returning to fumble the paper bag in search of something. He retrieved a smaller, fancier looking box from within—and this one was golden, of a sturdier material, definitely looking more like a gift box than the previous one. At the sight of it, Victor crooned, clasping a hand to his chest as his friend snickered. “Come on, Vitya, you know the suit is not a gift. You understand I needed to get you something else.”

“Chris, you didn’t have to—“

Waving his finger at Victor, Chris winked. “Exactly. I know I didn’t _have_ to. I _wanted_ to, because you’re my best friend and you deserve it,” he purred, giving Mila a quick peek of his gift. She gasped, delighted, pulling her camera up to capture the moment as Chris offered him the gift.

Within the box, laying on a black silk crib, was set a delicate white-gold watch carved with intricate patterns that were thin enough to just be hinted at a first glance; a dark blue background to the light-golden numbers that looked like pale snowflakes opposed to the night sky, pointers narrow and delicate silently ticking the seconds away. Victor shook his head, immensely flattered and incredulous at his friend’s deliberate pampering, a smile so earnest blossoming on his lips that made his cheeks hurt.

“I think he likes it,” he heard Mila chirp, followed by the shutter snap.

“I don’t want to hear that it’s too much,” Chris warned, words silky and soft, leaning on his shoulder as if he already expected Victor to complain about the gift being too over-the-top. “It’s a proper gift for this occasion,” Chris caressed those words deliberately, tapping his shoulder lightly as he winked. “You deserve to treat yourself a little.”

“I love it,” Victor admitted, taking the watch in his hands to have a better look at it, and the camera shutter clicked again.

“Well, now that I’ve introduced you two I’m afraid I’m going to take my leave and call Hans,” Chris said, waving at the other end of the room. “Daddy gets grumpy if we don’t wish each other sweet dreams.”

Mila crooned, clutching at her heart and smiling affectionately at Chris, who waved his hand at her with mock embarrassment. Victor watched the scene with a slight tinge of bitterness he couldn’t quite place but did his best to conceal it.

“Tell him I said hello!” Victor said in return, and Chris winked at him then turned around, moving to a quieter place.

“Relationship goals, honestly,” Mila commented as he left, offering Victor a sympathetic smile.

“They are a lovely couple,” he agreed, despising that bitterness that wouldn’t go away. “Even after years of marriage, they’re still so in love it feels like we’re all watching some rom-com.”

Mila said something that Victor didn’t quite catch under the jazzy music that started playing, something definitely corny that he didn’t mind hearing at that particular moment where he was trying to find something else to think about. The music and the sudden laughter bursting from the lower floor, where his guests were, were a welcome cacophony to distract him from the fact that his phone remained silent in his pocket, and it would remain like that all night.

“Anyway, pampered boy,” Mila said, pointing the camera at him with renewed enthusiasm. “Put your watch on so we can take some pictures.”

Victor indulged Mila with a few more pictures, before heading back to the party, worried that Lilia might come hunt him down if he was absent for too long. His guests were sprawled all over the room, some sitting and relaxing on the large velvet seats, others standing in circles, chatting over glasses of champagne and appetizers.

He didn’t see who did it, but someone whistled at the sight of him coming downstairs, causing excited cheers and applauses erupting sparsely in the room. In complete contrast to the ceremony earlier that day, each and every face Victor looked at there was directly tied to emotions and memories, making him feel much more at ease and making the smile blossoming on his lips undeniably more sincere. He shook his head, flattered by the playful cheering and waving his hands dismissively at the small, intimate crowd.

“Vitya!”

That thunderous voice was unmistakable, cheerful and excited like Victor hadn’t heard it in a while, making him turn around in surprise. Yakov caught up with him, a warm-hearted smile all over his face as he approached with his father, Alexey, right behind him, pulling for one of those handshakes that turned into a hug, roaring compliments on his performance. Victor earned a couple of pats on his shoulder from both of them as they shared a brief, friendly conversation where Yakov commented on some curious episodes on Victor’s path to presidency to his father and sharing a good laugh over some of them. It didn’t take long before a small circle formed around the three with some guests flocking in to hear the stories Yakov shared, each episode followed by Alexey’s laughter that drew attention from everyone.

He was almost grateful when Georgi brought the _maître_ up to him, giving him the perfect excuse to leave and announce that dinner would be served shortly. His guests stirred with interest, looking for their designated seats while trying to get some of his attention at all costs. Sitting at a filled table even with people who were all close to him was a bit overwhelming, but Victor managed to power through it without major issues.

Dinner went smoothly, the occasional requests for a speech getting progressively louder as more drinks were brought to the table, new bottles of champagne being popped open as time went by. It was blissfully ordinary, loud, fun and relaxing like only a night out with friends could be, and Victor was quick to forget about his exhaustion for the rest of the night. Every now and again someone would raise their voices to sing praises on Victor’s accomplishments, only to make him blush a little and dismiss them by proposing a toast. Other than that, it was pretty easy to forget what a life-changing day it had been.

Eventually some of his guests—namely Chris, Mila and Georgi, a dangerous combination that everyone should watch out for—invited him to indulge in some party-esque leisure for the rest of the night. They were planning on going to a famous club in the bohemian neighborhood and were desperately trying to come up with excuses for disguises so Victor could join them, drunkenly discussing what would be the best way to sneak him—and possibly his secret service, Georgi argued—into a party without raising any suspicions.

And for a moment, Victor earnestly considered joining them, nurturing the crazy idea of sneaking into a party and having fun with his friends like he hadn’t done in a long time, except more prudent thoughts got the best of him—and possibly Lilia’s watchful side-eye that let the message across pretty clearly. Excusing himself for the night, Victor headed home as the last of his guests bid him goodbye from his dinner party.

All of his fatigue came crashing down on him once he got on his ride back home, sore shoulders from holding up tension all day almost making it impossible to take a deep breath and relax. The suit he was wearing was one of his favorites, a most comfortable one, and even so, it felt like it was clinging to his body in wrong ways like it wasn’t his. His face itched under the light makeup, ears ringing from the loud voices and eyes feeling tired with sleep. He couldn’t wait to have some time for himself.

His apartment was in darkness, only dimly lit by the soft ambient lighting coming from his kitchen and the lights from the streets that shone through the large windows, the realization of it only hitting Victor as he heard Makkachin trotting up to him as he heard the telltale sound of his keys on the door.

“Hey, buddy. Sorry, I abandoned you today,” Victor apologized, getting on his knees to receive the greetings of his friend who wagged his tail excitedly, earning a few eager licks from his dog. “Was the dog-sitting lady nice to you? I hope she was.”

Makkachin replied with a soft whine, complaining as Victor interrupted the petting session to kick his shoes off and turn on a soft ambient light so the living room wasn’t in complete darkness. The room seemed slightly more habitable, and it was easier to discern the elegant furniture in the impeccably tidy room. Makkachin appreciated the change as he strutted around the living room in search of a toy, wasting no time to invite Victor to play.

Makkachin brought Victor a soft purple ball and dropped it at his feet, inviting him to kick it down the corridor to play chase. Understanding the message, Victor did some tricks with it—kicking it from one side to the other until Makkachin whined impatiently—giggling as he watched Makkachin’s fluffy ears perk up with attention whenever he did something different with his toy.

Victor kicked it down the corridor and Makkachin chased after, scratching his nails on the floor as he darted off, giving Victor some time to undo the knot on his tie and shed his jacket haphazardly as he headed to the kitchen to grab a drink. Makkachin barked at the ball a couple of times before pitter-patting his way back into the kitchen, dropping his drooled toy at his feet.

He played a little more with Makkachin, feeling bad for abandoning him for the entire day with some stranger, until the poodle gave himself satisfied by lolling his tongue out and laying in the middle of the corridor like he owned the place, and Victor had to tread carefully as to not to wake Makkachin up while heading to his bedroom.

Showering sounded like the best idea he’d had all day. A moment to wash away the exhaustion off his body, put on some comfortable clothes and relax on his couch like he’d been dreaming all afternoon. He turned the TV on and tuned to some random documentary channel to offer some soft background noise and hopped into the shower, letting the water run down his body, hoping that it would ease his tension as a makeshift massage. It didn’t work, though it certainly helped him relax to the point of sleepiness.

Victor put on some old sweatpants and an oversized t-shirt from the time when he was a student in Paris, feeling the most comfortable he’d felt the whole day. He’d plopped onto the sofa lazily with Makkachin nesting next to him as the poodle realized it was time for cuddling, earning a gentle scratch behind his ears as a reward. It was only then that Victor remembered his initial plan of preparing some popcorn to watch a movie, sighing in defeat as he stroked Makkachin’s soft fur.

There was still a bottle of vodka on the coffee table, he remembered, peeking to find it exactly where he’d left the night before. He poured himself a small dose and took a sip as he watched the documentary with no real interest. It was all about waiting for that familiar buzzing feeling that alcohol brought with it as he watched the TV, drinking just enough to feel that relaxation in his limbs that made sleeping much easier.  

He dozed off eventually, softly snoring with Makkachin curled between his legs, the low hum from the TV barely audible in his sleep.

 

* * *

 

**A Tête-a-Tête With Victor Nikiforov**

The president talks about transparency, what's on his bookshelf and his top priorities as Russia’s new leader.

By William S.

Most presidents I’ve met and interviewed have tended to be gregarious, keen on pleasing and impressing, talkative almost to a fault. Victor Nikiforov, by contrast, is quiet, collected and effortlessly precise, courteous and pleasant to be around.

I met him in Berlin, on the occasion of the UN General Assembly, for breakfast, and I’m overwhelmed by how low-key it all is. He has a book with him, something he’s been reading for the trip, he tells me, surrounded by the members of his council, casually exchanging impressions on some street-performer that they’d seen on their way to the hotel the previous day. There are no more than five staffers with him, all of them joining him for breakfast as if it was some common occurrence.

His calmness is reflected in his smooth and controlled term, having recently reached the mark of five months into office with remarkably positive feedback on his policies. In conversation, his thoughtfulness is punctuated by a laid-back wit, and much like his speeches Nikiforov’s eloquence and charisma prove to be his strong traits that make him such a successful leader.

 

**When did you first think of running for president? At what stage of your life did you begin to think that you could or should be president?**

I would divide it into two periods: the theoretical and the practical. The theoretical moment consisted of catching myself thinking “I could make some better decisions than the current president”, as, I think, everyone does at some point in their lives. The practical moment was when I started thinking, in a very possible way, that being president was something I should pursue. This practical part wasn’t until I was appointed Minister of Labor and Social Security and was faced with significant challenges that made my work impossible. That was when I had the sense that I should do something about it instead of just thinking “I could do better than them”, acting on it instead of waiting for someone else to do it.

**So it was when the State Duma scandal happened?**

It wasn’t only then, but that’s when I committed to it. We had gotten such a powerful response to the declaration at the State Duma we all agreed we needed to take action. People were waiting for someone to say it. When it happened, and when I saw the response it got from the public – that was when I felt people were eager to move past the old political ambiance. It was like they were only waiting for the occasion to go out on the streets and speak their minds.

**That’s what gave you the confidence to hit your stride as a candidate?**

I was never lacking in self-confidence. Everything I decide to work on will always have my full potential and dedication put into it. That’s the only way I know it’ll work. So, when I settled on becoming a candidate, I was already resolute on doing my absolute best to guarantee I could justify the trust of a whole nation in me when I took office. And while losing was a possibility, all things considered, I didn’t want to think of it. I was set on giving the other candidates a run for their money.

**You mentioned having good self-confidence. What are some other traits you find important in your professional life?**

I’ve discovered that I don’t get a lot of satisfaction from being the center of attention. (Laughs) I deal with it—doesn’t bother me at all. What really satisfies me is getting my work done, finding different ways of making it better. And that has led me to find out that I’m very… stable. Which is extremely helpful. It allows you to study your strategy before acting on it, making sure to get the best possible result out of what you’re planning on doing or consider the best way to approach a potential ally. A steady mood is key to a position of power like the presidency, and it’s been really satisfying to find that out about myself.

**Were you surprised at the people’s optimistic response by electing you?**

What I think my victory as president represents is that the Russian people are genuinely concerned about the direction our country is moving, worried about whether they’re going to be able to follow other countries’ paces and not be left behind. We might have a certain melancholy infused within ourselves, but that doesn’t stop us from aspiring to do better and make things differently. I was excited to find out that such a large number of people believe in the same dreams as I do, and that fills me with hope.

**Many young people have backed you during your campaign and placed such hope in you and your promise for change —how will your term affect them?**

What we’ve been noticing in the past decade is that young people are leaving Russia to start their lives elsewhere, never to return, and we’ve been wondering why. And a lot of people dismissed this problem as it being lack of interest from young generations, but that’s not it. The younger masses weren’t feeling represented enough, their voices weren’t being heard, so leaving the country to try and be heard elsewhere is the logical reaction. There is a real hunger to get engaged and involved on the part of young people, but they didn't see politics as an avenue to do it. From my perspective, the previous government failed on finding a way of letting these voices be heard—they are our nation’s future. We were due for an upgrade. Virtual meetings, increasing transparency, accountability on legislation, these are all tools available to give them an opportunity to speak and be heard. It gives them the opportunity to hold me accountable when I'm not following through on promises that I've made, and gives me meaningful guidance to know what I should be focusing on.

**Talking about change, this is a recurring word in your speeches. Not in policy terms, can you elaborate what change means for you? And what do you want for Russia as a whole?**

What I want the most is to establish an even-leveled way of communication between government and the people. I want everyone to feel connected, be a part of it, and I want the government to listen to these voices and act on them—not on special interests. That’s what I mean when I speak about change. For as long as I can remember democracy has always been some sort of questionable term when speaking politics in Russia, and that certainly takes a toll not only in a more internal level but also the external level—foreign policies and such. And since we are talking about internal and external affairs that change takes a much broader aspect, I want Russia to think about long-term as well as short-term changes, be it on natural resources, the federal budget and national debt, investments in the military, or health care and education. We need to stop thinking of all these things as disconnected branches of a government and bring them into a balance with one another.

**It’s noticeable that political transparency, especially in funding, has been something you’ve been very vocal about. How do you feel the current political climate is on that front?**

Past scandals aside, this is something that we as a political system have to improve on, and one of the main goals for my term. Whenever you transition to a new way of thinking about structuring something, especially in something as complex as politics, the old is going to resist the new. In order to actually get something working, we are going to need to steadily ratchet down the influence of private interests in the political system. This is not easy, which is why we need to be extremely careful in this transition. Our goal as a collective is to find the middle ground where the government is free to act on behalf of the people without being held captive by people who have billions of dollars and want the government to do as they please, while not having the government to be too authoritative. Some of the things we want to do probably won’t fit into a term, but it’s important to have the pieces laid down and set the engines in motion for the future.

**How does it feel to be so young in this office?**

It’s a lot of responsibility. Being president is a challenge and it requires a great deal of energy to fulfill the official agenda, constantly traveling from one place to another and keeping yourself in a frame of mind where you’re not put down with all the effort you’re constantly making. I have a very experienced team offering all support necessary, they are my backbone and I’m very lucky to have them on my side.

**It seems like you are all one big family, you and your aides.**

We are. I’m always trying to find new ways to show them my appreciation, so whenever our agenda allows it we meet up for lunch every couple of weeks. I’m always seeking to engage with my work team—it wouldn’t make sense talking about change, about bringing the government closer to the people if I kept all of my aides at an arm’s distance. It’s about taking small steps and showing everyone how simple it can be.

**This is something that has caught a lot of attention even on international level. You seem to avoid using the presidential transportation, in favor of taking the metro to the Kremlin or even riding a bicycle to work. You also don’t use the presidential residence nearly as much as previous presidents. Is there any specific reason behind this?**

I’ve always used public transport to get places before, and I figured it wouldn’t make sense to change that once I became the person in charge of making sure these services should be of quality. If a service is provided with public money then it should be good enough for anyone to use. As for the presidential residence, that’s my workplace. I feel more comfortable if I can go back to the comfort of my home, the place my dog likes the most, so I can unwind after work. It’s not that I don’t appreciate all the things that are available for me—I’d just rather lead a normal life, as much as possible.

**And what about your safety?**

There’s an efficient team that’s OK with obliging the president’s lunacy, so that shouldn’t be a problem.

**People can’t help but notice you’re single. Have you been married before?**

I have not.

**Does anyone currently have your heart?**

I’m in a serious relationship with my work, and she leaves no room for other mistresses.

**You are an avid reader. What have you been reading lately?**

I’ve been reading Žižek’s _Living in the End Times_ on this travel. It’s a heavy read —I find myself taking breaks from it after a couple of hours to process what’s being discussed—but also compelling. It was the same thing when I read Hobsbawm’s _Age of Extremes_ , but then again not many people read these kinds of books for leisure.

**Physical copies or e-books?**

When I go on long trips I usually favor e-books. I like having a variety to choose from, so I’ll pick a read depending on my mood, so instead of carrying a bunch of books I’ll just have a device for it. Physical copies are my go-to when I’m on short trips.

**Name three of your all-time favorite books.**

Wilde’s _The Importance of Being Earnest_ is probably my favorite, I always find myself returning to it when I have the chance. _The Book of Disquiet_ by Fernando Pessoa has left quite an impression on me, and _Pride and Prejudice_ by Jane Austen is a frequent reread for me.

**Is there anything you would lay down at the end of your first term where you say, "If this has happened or not happened, I would consider it a negative thing on my governance"?**

If I haven’t established and implemented a good healthcare and educational system, and if I haven’t raised, even if just a little, the living standards in Russia and made Russia a more reliable ally in the international plan, then we’ve missed the boat. I think these three points are my major long-term plans that I’d like to have achieved, or at least leave ready at the end of my first term. It’ll require a lot of attention and hard work, and it’s going to be a big challenge for all of us.

When we are done talking, his parting words are delivered with a dazzling smile: “Pleased to meet you. Take care.”

 

* * *

 

 

Victor knew for a fact that he was his worst judge, but it was bordering the line of ridiculous as he sat in his office working off his shift for the sake of rewording the project he’d been working on for a week. The pile of discarded drafts—both printed and hurriedly scribbled—around him was chaotic, but he insisted on keeping them around _just in case_ he needed them. His eyes hurt from the strain, having been fixed on the screen of his computer for longer than it was advised, and Lilia had left maybe an hour ago —he couldn’t be sure—which meant he _should_ have gone home as well, but it was when Victor was hit by a sudden wave of inspiration that had caused him to lock himself in his office.

To no avail, apparently. His draft still sounded bad when he read it out loud, and the more he tried to reword it, the worse it seemed to turn out.

He placed his elbows on the desk, resting his chin on the heels of his hands, sighing helplessly. There was a stubborn pain in his shoulders that wouldn’t go away no matter how many times he stretched, rolling his shoulders back and his head to the sides.

Victor hated to admit, but to be simply put, exhaustion was getting the best of him. He knew he had to quit and go home and eat something—he _was_ starved, he noticed, as he’d skipped lunch to work —before collapsing on his bed, but since he’d gotten the habit of taking Makkachin with him to the Kremlin he felt more comfortable with the idea of staying over for a little longer.

That little longer sometimes meant hours working off his shift. He was used to earning earfuls from Lilia the following mornings, but those extra hours of work always seemed to be worth it in the long run.

So Victor tried to negotiate with himself. Forty minutes. If he couldn’t finish his draft in forty minutes—no matter how bad it was—he’d give up for the day. Victor vaguely remembered telling himself that same thing earlier, but _this_ time he was serious.

His eyes hurt, burning as he moved them around trying to focus on objects at a greater distance, and rubbing them on the back of his hands felt _so good_ Victor let out a tired groan as he blinked his eyes back to focus on the mayhem his handwriting had become. Maybe he really needed to call it a day and go home. Or maybe he could ask for a coffee, something that would give him that boost he so sorely needed. Then he could finish transcribing his scribbles to the open document on his computer and pick Makkachin from the kennel.

Victor sat back in his chair, running his hand through his hair before shuffling through the papers on his desk in search of an older draft for a comparative reading. He was looking at his watch when he heard sharp knocks on the door.

“Yes?”

At that point, fixing his gaze on anything that wasn’t at least forty centimeters from his face was a real challenge. The door was pushed open, and though he could recognize the shape on the doorway Victor could barely make sense of it. After a couple of blinks later he recognized a familiar face of one of the Kremlin staff workers, pushing a tea trolley into his office without ceremony.

“I’ve brought some tea,” said the old lady sweetly, and it was only when he heard the sound of the door being shut that Victor noticed how awfully silent it was at the Kremlin.

Victor nodded, finding it a bit odd that instead of asking him what he’d like she was just bringing in tea, but he decided he’d take it. The white-haired lady pushed the trolley into his office with a smile, slow steps crossing the room until she was right in front of his desk, the scent of sweet vanilla tea emanating deliciously from the kettle almost so powerful he could feel himself relax.

“Thank you, Lyudmila,” Victor smiled as she poured some tea in a fancy cup.

“It is my special recipe,” she explained, hands surprisingly agile for a woman of her age, placing the cup of tea on the only breach available on Victor’s chaotic desk. “I thought I should bring in something before dinner.”

Knitting his eyebrows in confusion, Victor looked at the old lady expecting her to elaborate on why dinner was going to be served. He didn’t usually have a second meal at the Kremlin—unless it was a special occasion, of which Victor had absolutely no clue. He worried his lip between his teeth trying to recall if he had any dinners scheduled for that week, but nothing came up.

He looked at his watch again, this time focusing on what time it was instead of how many minutes he had to work, and it surprised him how late it actually was. Time sure seemed to fly when he was neck-deep with work.

Lyudmila poured a second cup of tea, one in which she added an unreasonable amount of sugar, stirring a couple of times before taking the seat right in front of him. She did so with such ease, as if that was a normal occurrence for her, that Victor felt like _he_ was the one intruding in her office.

His mouth moved, though no sound came out, watching the old lady watch him with knowing eyes over her cup of tea.

“What do you do for fun?” She asked, her voice undeniably sweet, and the informality of it would have surprised Victor if he wasn’t so tired.

It took him a moment to reply, and Victor busied himself with blowing his tea cold.

“I like to read. Skate. Watch movies,” he replied with a shrug. “You?”

Lyudmila smiled over the rim of her cup. “I like to cook. I baked a carrot cake yesterday. When was the last time you had fun, Victor?’

Victor touched the tea with his lips, finding it too hot to take a sip, but busied himself with the action nonetheless. The drink left a sweet taste on his lips even though he hadn’t had a sip of it at all.

“Right now,” he lied. Lyudmila narrowed her eyes in response.

“You work too much,” she said, frowning like a concerned grandma. “Lilia said you didn’t leave your office today. You’ve barely eaten all day. You need a break.”

And Victor would have protested if it wasn’t for the look of genuine concern in her eyes, the way Lyudmila looked upset that he’d been holed up in his office, hunched over all those documents all day. He remained in silence, taking a sip of his tea and enjoying the myriad of flavors that danced on his tongue. Oddly enough, he felt his body relax as he drank some more.

He could see his reflection on Lyudmila’s glasses—his silver hair disheveled from running his fingers through it every time he sighed in exasperation, the loose tie around his neck laid on his slightly crumpled shirt rolled up on his forearms. That and his slumped shoulders spelled exhaustion in three different languages for him.

“I lost track of time,” Victor commented nonchalantly, eyes lost somewhere on his desk. “I had a lot of work to deal with.”

When he looked back up, Lyudmila was studying him with impenetrable eyes.

“Enough work for today, yes? You need to take good care of yourself,” she smiled over the edge of her cup. “Have dinner. Get your dog; go to the presidential room and have some rest. You have everything at your disposal there. You can even watch a movie if you’re not feeling tired, but I’m sure you are.”

Victor hummed, drinking some tea as he weighed her suggestion. In six months in office he’d never used the presidential residence for other than official meetings, so he couldn’t exactly say he felt comfortable in that luxurious home—let alone the presidential bedroom. On the other hand, he _was_ feeling too tired to go back home, and considering dinner was about to be served and Makkachin was with him already, staying over didn’t sound like a bad idea.

So he agreed, feeling oddly relaxed after finishing his tea, struggling to organize his desk without yawning, and barely being able to keep his eyes open after the delightful meal. Whatever Lyudmila’s special recipe was, it worked on Victor like the painkillers he’d taken throughout the day couldn’t.

And Victor had no words to describe how grateful he was for that suggestion when he took Makkachin with him to his bedroom in the Kremlin and flopped on the comfortable bed, a long sigh falling from his lips as he let his body relax, enveloped by the warm fluffy covers on the bed. He didn’t bother taking his suit off at first, telling himself he was only enjoying staying in a horizontal position as his back screamed in protest after sitting for a long day.

It was an unfamiliar bedroom, very much impersonal even though it was as cozy as his own home. He made a mental note of soaking in the bathtub before getting himself ready to sleep, but once he put his phone to charge and found a comfortable position as he lazily shed his suit with Makkachin sound asleep curled up on the bed with him, Victor knew well enough he wasn’t moving for the day.

Even with sleep pooling in his eyelids it was hard to disconnect his mind from his work, subtle reminders that he wasn’t at home that made him stir when he was about to fall asleep. Careful not to importune Makkachin, Victor tucked himself under the elegant covers that seemed to hug his frame in a warm embrace, hoping that sleep would find him soon despite being in that strange place that didn’t feel like home at all.

But that didn’t matter once his exhaustion began settling in, the all-too-comfortable bed feeling just as pleasant as his own. As his consciousness ebbed, his mind went into a free fall, swirling nonsensical thoughts and images as his body went limp in the comfort of that large bed. Even with his phone close to his face, Victor didn’t even notice when its screen lit up with a notification on the election of a new Prime Minister in Japan.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about the lack of Yuuri in this update but I promise we'll be seeing him on the next chapter <3
> 
> Please don't hesitate to hit me up and talk about this AU <3  
> You can follow me on [tumblr (vityanikiforova)](http://vityanikiforova.tumblr.com) and [twitter (cutesudon)](http://twitter.com/cutesudon) for more updates!


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